


What Dreams Become

by shadhahvar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 3-Way Rivalry for the Podium, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Rivalry, Slow Burn, Vicchan still dies, Yuuri goes to Sochi Olympics, bigbangonice2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 72,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar
Summary: In his second year in the Seniors Division, Yuuri Katsuki doesn't believe he's any closer to sharing the ice with his longtime idol Victor Nikiforov than the year before.  When an unexpected twist of fate lands him at Worlds, Yuuri starts down the path of becoming friends and rivals with both Victor and Christophe Giacometti.This is a story about Yuuri chasing after his dream, and all the unexpected turns life takes along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the Big Bang!!! On ICE fanfiction and fanart event!
> 
> This story is dedicated to Cammy, who had been asking for a soft rival's AU; I hope this story is everything you wanted, and several surprises along the way.
> 
> This story is also dedicated to the amazing artists I had the incredible pleasure of working with! [Rikichie](https://rikichie.tumblr.com/) and [Amber](https://amberultramarine.tumblr.com/), who were not only wonderful, supportive people, but also endlessly enthusiastic, helping cheer me on and earning more sweet moments in this story as I raced to complete it all than would have been there otherwise. All these sweet moments are for you two! I don't know if I would have had the same energy to finish this story if it weren't for the both of you. Thank you so much for everything, not the least of which is the incredible, heartwarming art you both made for this story!
> 
> You'll find their amazing art linked within the story, and also on both their tumblrs, as linked up above.

He was three when he started dancing. The first day Yuuri was brought along to Minako’s studio, he held on to his sister Mari’s hand, eyes wide as he looked around. He gawked like a crane, head twisting this and that way, stumbling as Mari pulled him up short to adjust the backpack strap slipping down over her shoulder.

“Careful, _Yu-chan_!”

“ _Nee-chan!_ ” Yuuri reclaimed his balance, brow furrowing as he stared up at his sister in frustration. She’d apologised, reaching down and ruffling his hair, moving off to the side where everyone left their backpacks during their lessons. Yuuri was restless at first, bouncing his leg as he sat in place like he’d been told. Stretching didn’t engage him, but the sight of so many girls and boys moving in unison had him mimicking their stretches anyway: flexible, like many children were. It wasn’t until they were stretching at the barre that he gave up on sitting altogether, watching the older students move into position. Studying, pursuing his lips, then trying to move his young limbs into the same forms.

Two years later, Minako suggested to Hiroko that they see if Yuuri enjoyed ice skating. He had an interest and desire to dance, but he was inwardly focused, a child who shut out the world around him as he practiced. He didn’t coordinate well with the others, impatient with his own mistakes, often enough frustrated with everyone else’s. In the recitals he’d been part of since starting with ballet, he’d been caught up in the whirlwind, but as if by accident, he seemed to be competing with his peers instead of cooperating with them.

He knew how to move, even at five. Minako was curious if he might take to the ice; and if, in her own unapologetically ambitious thoughts, he might do more than take to it. Ice Castle Hasetsu hadn’t produced more than a regional champion in decades, but that didn’t mean _never_. There were at least a handful of local kids who practiced under the two coaches teaching figure skating at the rink.

Hiroko agreed in pleasant confusion, managing to arrange the time to come with Minako for Yuuri’s first lesson on the ice. He hadn’t been able to see over the boards, climbing up on the bench to look out over the rink. He’d sat down at Hiroko’s request, puzzling over the cold, over his rental boots, over the whole of their enterprise there.

“Give it a try,” Minako said, flashing him a smile and a firm look. Even then, he’d known that meant no half-hearted measures. Minako was both gifted and relentless as an instructor.

So he gave it a try. Yuuri stepped on the ice. He spent most of that hour learning how to stand, then fall, then stand again. He smiled once he had it right. Hiroko smiled, soft and musing while she watched her youngest child make a point of getting back on his feet away from the boards, holding his arms aloft, _tah-dah!_ “If it’s what he wants, _Minako-senpai_ ,” she said, not needing to look at Minako. “We’ll sign him up for lessons.”

The question was posed to Yuuri at the end of the lesson. After a moment of grave consideration, he nodded, breaking into a broad smile. “Yes, please! Can I get my own boots? These ones feel funny.”

It was the start of a lifetime’s worth of sweat, tears, contusions, fears, blood, lost toenails, flowering bruises, mental distress, and incredible achievement. Not that any of them knew it at the time.

Back then, for them, having something Yuuri loved was enough.

* * *

The crowd rumbled in the background as Yuuri checked his laces for a final time and straightened, turning toward the ice. Kyle Lestrange, the skater from the United States, sat waiting with his coach for his results in the kiss and cry. It was those long minutes between results and another skater claiming the ice that left the crowd murmuring, heads bent toward friends and companions while points were electronically tallied and sent on for announcement.

Yuuri didn’t hear the score when it came. He didn’t see it either, glasses left with Celestino; the same coach now holding his hand out for Yuuri’s second skate guard. “Remember to breathe,” he said, smiling broadly. Green eyes flashed with steady humour and faith in Yuuri. He knew that look, out of focus as it was, finding it somewhat easier to trust in Celestino’s confidence after the last year spent training with him. Even if he still didn’t feel it was deserved. “You have two quads with that combination in the second half. You’ll nail it, Yuuri, just like you have been in practice. Go show the world what you can do!”

 _Like fall?_ He smiled, the rueful expression firming into one with borrowed confidence. Celestino had managed to get Yuuri jumping his quad toe with a seamless landing. Being able to count on himself for those technical points let him edge out more of the competition than he’d reliably managed the year before. Now they were working on the quad salchow, with an eye for including it in next season’s programs, but it wasn’t there yet. While Celestino was confident Yuuri would be landing them consistently at that point, Yuuri wasn’t.

He didn’t have room in his mind for any of that as he set foot on ice, gliding away from the boards in a long, curving arc. Practice felt like it’d happened days ago, even when it’d been a matter minutes since warming up. As the chill of the ice circled up around his calves, climbing higher when he came to a stop in the center of the rink, Yuuri concentrated on breathing. The sounds of the crowd retreated; the glare of light off ice was blinding. He knew where the judges sat, knew the course his program would take across and over the rink.

When the music started, Yuuri lifted his head and arm in an extension of a graceful maneuver, moving through the opening of his program on automatic. The ice quality felt substantial underblade, but the thoughts running through his head—an impression of _consistency_ and a need to chase after his dream, six plus years in the making—quieted into temporary exultation of success as he touched down cleanly after his first quad.

The smile on his lips was short lived, mouth thinning as determination and the mood of his free skate settled back over his shoulders. Step sequences, choreographed and not; a spread eagle leading into his triple axel; spins and spirals and so suddenly, an aeon later, he came to a stop. He stayed there, head bowed, arms held out to his sides, bare palms turned up, fingers splayed, one foot propped up behind the other. He was breathing hard with exertion and the exhaustion that set in after every good skate. When he looked up to the sound of applause and cheers, he remembered to bow to the judges, skating around and repeating the motion for the audience behind him and to his sides.

They were very polite, he noted while flowers and plushies hit the ice, to cheer so loudly for him. Then again, he was one of the two Japanese skaters in men’s singles here at the NHK. It made sense when he was competing within his own country. Collecting what looked like tempura shrimp on his way back to the break in the boards, Celestino’s smile reminded him to keep smiling, handing off the shrimp in favour of accepting his skate guards back once he crossed the threshold. Media was impossible to avoid, and always had been; he focused on Celestino’s commentary and nodded in agreement as he accepted his jacket, shrugging into it. Then he reached for his water and the hand-towel to blot at his face.

His heart was pounding in his ears the whole way to the kiss and cry. He felt almost _okay_ with his performance, but as soon as that crept into his head, he worried that it was a false sense of security and comfort. He hadn’t fallen in his quads, but he’d turned a triple in a combination into a double, and he never should have, even if he’d realised he didn’t have the power to pull through rotations and land cleanly once he’d touched down from his first jump. _Stupid_ , why had he thought that was a good idea at the time? He hadn’t been as clean in his second step sequence, he hadn’t gotten the height he wanted in his triple axel, he’d been lucky not to fall _this_ time, but he was Yuuri: that’s what he did. He fell, just like he had in his short program.

Nerves crept up and over him while he clutched the stuffed tempura shrimp in his arms, Celestino a warm presence at his side.

“That was a much stronger performance than in the Finlandia Trophy.”

Yuuri nodded, draping his towel over his neck. “Mm.”

“You have every reason to be proud! We’ll focus on your short program before Nationals.”

He nodded again, knowing they’d need to do more than focus. His nerves had gotten away from him at the Finlandia Trophy, a fact he hadn’t forgiven himself for yet. Celestino helped him stay more on task here, but in a way it was all a proving ground for just himself. He’d qualified for an assignment to the series, but even if he won gold, he wouldn’t have the points or placement to go on to the Grand Prix Final.

It grated, but only because it would have been his first chance to face Victor on the same ice, even if he knew he wasn’t ready to take him on toe to toe quite yet. Instead he was competing against Christophe for the first time since their Junior days. Back then Yuuri had never managed to take the lead away from him, but he also had only one season, his first, in which to try and do it. The season after, Chris had already moved up to the Senior’s division.

Chris had the lead coming out of the short program, a thought that decided to intrude as the half-minute before his score was announced stretched on into infinity. He was in third right now through a miracle of his program component score making up for deductions from his technical scores, but strong performances from skaters who’d ranked lower in the short program meant he needed to have done far better than his fumbling free skate that landed him sixth in Finlandia. 

Had he? He’d managed to land both his quad and quad combination, and he’d nailed his triple axel even if he didn’t have the height he liked. He _felt_ more confident, but he’d fooled himself before. He grit his teeth and squinted at the monitor as the scores displayed, willing the numbers to swim into sharper focus. The announcer was speaking, Japanese first, followed by English. Yuuri tuned their voice out both times.

Squinting at the scores he read on the screen, he felt Celestino pull him sideways into a congratulatory hug before the understanding really hit. 

“Congratulations, Yuuri!”

“ _This is a new personal best for Yuuri Katsuki! He is currently in first place._ ”

A state of affairs he didn’t expect to last, but it was thrilling while he was there.

* * *

“You know, Yuuri, that’s the first time I’ve been looking up at you on the podium.” Christophe looked entirely relaxed in his suit, cocktail held carelessly in hand. He’d drunk down half of it, leaving an olive to twirl on a toothpick as he rolled his wrist, swirling the alcohol left inside. 

“Hello, Chris.” Yuuri left off from fidgeting with his tie, alternately feeling choked and too loose around his throat. He’d stuck with water, foregoing more flavorful drinks for the duration of the banquet proper. These functions weren’t all that relaxing for him, though he knew his role and played it best he could. Talking with the other skaters was easier than the rest. At least he generally had an idea of where their interests lay: out on the ice. “We haven’t skated in many of the same competitions in seniors.” His smile was wry for a beat, tentative and amused.

“Just what, once last year?” Chris pulled out the vacated chair to his left, sitting down and flashing Yuuri a smile. “Before that, it was Juniors.”

“In your last year there. You’ve been in seniors most my international career.”

His nod was affable enough, Chris leaning forward to plant an elbow on the table, cradling his chin. “True, and I’m a slow start in every season, but Yuuri, I’m not _that_ slow. You have me almost wondering if this is going to be a more exciting season than I’d had planned.” 

The insult curled around the compliment that was all Chris probably intended. Last year had certainly set a precedent for both him and for Victor, with the two of them taking silver and gold at each major international competition they’d participated in. Calling Yuuri’s performance here exciting should have been gratifying.

Yuuri studied his water glass, lips thinning into a line. “Is Victor the only challenger you see on the ice?” He took a hurried sip of water, wondering why in the world he’d asked the stupid, obvious question. Victor was who _everyone_ chased after. No exception. It was a matter of speculation if he’d live up to the same results as he’d achieved the year before, but for all he hadn’t always been on top in his earlier career, he’d always been consistently _incredible_. 

He knew his own bias, but he also knew he was right. Which meant he didn’t need to see whatever expression was on Chris’s face; his shoulders hunched a few centimeters up as Chris started laughing. “Hardly, what kind of arrogant fool do you think I am?” He nudged his knee against Yuuri’s, possibly to draw his attention. Yuuri wasn’t sure, though it worked to that effect, looking away from his intent study of the table to catch sight of Chris giving him a far more speculative look than before. “Planning on winning silver on another podium this year?”

“Other than nationals?” He smiled, shoulders dropping. He knew what Chris meant. The last thing he felt was confidence in taking the podium at Worlds, not when that meant being up against Victor and every other top skater in the world, Chris included. Yuuri didn’t fool himself into believing that he was competing on quite that level yet. _Yet_ , he repeated, _but each year I’m getting closer._

“We weren’t planning on accepting any of the other invitations to compete outside of the European Championships and Worlds, as long as I qualify.” The easy twitch of Chris’s lips belied the apparent modesty of his statement. Yuuri offered a small smile in return. Little wonder: Chris had been sent to Worlds every year since his seniors debut, though he’d only achieved the podium there last season. Where Chris had sounded playful before, now his eyes gained a glint Yuuri recognised on a visceral level. “I’m looking forward to seeing you skate at Worlds, Yuuri.”

Yuuri let go of his water glass, the same sense of determination he’d felt two days earlier surging through his chest past the swirling thoughts dragging him down. It didn’t matter that Chris wasn’t Yuuri’s goal. It didn’t matter that he’d never been the person Yuuri had altered course to chase after. Chris was still part of that long, hard dash after Victor, as caught up in chasing after Victor’s star as Yuuri had been since the first time he’d seen Victor skate. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing you skate when you really mean it.”

“ _Ouch_. I can’t tell if that hurt me or you.” Chris smiled, lifting his chin from his hand. Affable as Chris sounded, Yuuri still choked on a hurried apology that Chris waved off. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” He paused, canting his head to the side. “Do you wear contacts on the ice?”

The change in subject caught him off guard, blinking and processing the question before giving a slow shake of his head. “No, not really, I’m sorry. I tried them a few times, but they kept irritating my eyes.” He gestured toward his glasses. “They went all red and scratchy.” 

He was comfortable navigating in the soft out-of-focus blur of the world when he took off his glasses. He didn’t need to see the ice to know where it was, or where he was relative to the rest of the rink for positioning during his skates. Not being able to see the finer details of the crowd or the judges’ faces was more of a benefit than a hindrance, like how he preferred not seeing the finer details in reporters and camera people interviewing him afterward. 

Making a noise of consideration, Chris clucked his tongue and shook his head. “That’s a shame. I don’t know if I’d ever go back to skating without them.”

“You wear glasses?” He looked back to Chris, eyebrows creeping up toward his hairline. Why was that surprising? He didn’t track personal information on most skaters, true, but it was hardly like other skaters couldn’t have vision problems. _Victor doesn’t._ Yuuri knew that for an interview stated fact. Victor wasn’t anything less than perfect. Somehow that made Chris’s imperfections even more grounding.

“Whenever I’m not wearing contacts. I’m horribly nearsighted.” His dramatic sigh was followed by a flop back into his chair. “Can’t read without wearing glasses. I have those big, round frames.” His lips quirked up into an amused expression. “Makes my eyes look even larger.” 

For his part Yuuri had no idea what to make of the conversation. “Is that so?” He offered another small smile in return. “Is this an important quality, having large eyes?”

“When they match the size of my stomach, yes.” Chris winked, laughing at a joke Yuuri didn’t fully follow. 

Yuuri’s laughter was weak in return, gaze falling to examine his water glass, his thoughts returning to their earlier conversation. No matter what he rationalised, he couldn’t fully feel confident saying he belonged on the ice, that he was improving to any point where he might bask on the fringes of Victor’s light, let alone share the same orbit. At the same time, he refused to back down from the face of his insecurities. Those weaknesses were part of what he had to overcome on a day-to-day basis. He wouldn’t steal his dream away from himself; not without trying everything he could to hold onto it first.

Yuuri faced Chris again, the heat of determination burning in his eyes as it filled his chest and throat, tingling along his nerves as a tightness without a proper name. “In that case, bring your best appetite to Worlds.”

The sheer ridiculousness of his own words caught up with Yuuri in a rush, heat flooding his face even as the determination continued to burn hot in his chest. Chris blinked rapidly, studying Yuuri before he smiled, breathing out in a huff of amusement.

“Why? Planning on out-eating me, or eating me out?”

“Eating you _out_ of second place onthe podium.” The innuendo, if there was one, flew right past. 

Chris whistled, tone mischievous. “Kinky, Yuuri, _very_ kinky.” In spite of his words, his green eyes stayed serious, a hint of genuine interest lurking in those depths. Yuuri didn’t like maintaining eye contact, between reasons of politeness and a challenge to a senior within his sport; but he did now, waiting until Chris inclined his head forward in a more considering nod than earlier.

Yuuri bowed his head in return, just enough to be visible, then stood with his hands curling into fists at his sides to keep them from shaking. The heat on his face didn’t fade as he stood to leave, bidding his goodnight before he strode off to find Celestino. Resisting the urge to scrub his face with his hands was incredibly difficult as his own stupid phrasing came back to haunt him. He didn’t know what Chris had meant by kinky, but he _did_ know that’d been a poor way of phrasing what he meant. Regardless, face cooling from the embarrassment over his inability to capture the tone he wanted in his second language, Yuuri felt that determination distill in his stomach.

Victor would always be his lodestone, the guiding star he’d chase after until he could share his space. In the process, there were so many fellow competitive skaters on similar levels, if not quite on Victor’s level. Chris came closest.

And Yuuri had just said he’d match Chris’s appetite for victory on the international stage.

 _Great work, Yuuri, now you sound like an idiot and you don’t have the track record to back up anything you’ve said and you’re going to make a fool out of yourself and Chris will probably not even care except to laugh if he even remembers this conversation_ —he cut his own thoughts off, shaking his head as found Celestino. No, no, Chris wasn’t like that. Chris was competitive like the rest of them were, but the only thing he’d probably find laughable would be Yuuri talking like he did and then failing to _try_ to live up to it. _Probably_. Chris had never struck him as cruel.

“I’m heading to the room,” Yuuri said, Celestino giving him a thoughtful look.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

He shook his head, summoning up a smile at odds with his swirling emotions, nervous and excited and determined and uncertain as they were. “No, I’m just tired.”

“Ah, of course, of course. Remember that check-out’s at eleven, but our flight’s leaving at ten, so we’ll want to be up and moving by six or so.”

Yuuri made his acknowledgements without really listening. A copy of the schedule forwarded by his agent was on his phone. He’d check over the timeframes, set his alarms, and pre-pack tonight. The more he had in order ahead of time, the less he’d worry over come morning.

His mind was already focusing on what came next: Nationals. If he bombed there, the rest of his season would be waiting on invitationals and showcasing himself on the international scene to set the stage for next year. As he slipped under the covers, setting his glasses to the side, he curled in on himself and hoped he’d manage not to embarrass himself more than he already had making those claims earlier in the night when talking with Christophe.

Why was it only now that he remembered Japan only had one spot at Worlds?

* * *

Gold.

He stared down at the medal hung around his neck. What alternate reality had he stepped into? Celestino spoke at his side, a hand on his upper back guiding him toward one of the back halls and toward what would be the press conference.

_I wasn’t supposed to win gold._

He caught the ridiculous thought and knew better, but he still felt like it was _wrong_ on some level. Too new, too improbable. Oda had been skating too. Shouldn’t he have been first?

“Congratulations,” he heard again, bowing in reflex as he smiled and pushed errant strands of hair back off his face to no avail. They fell right back down after, stubborn as the rest of him.

“Celestino, I double-footed my landing on the first quad.”

“You did. Then you skated through.”

He always skated through, even when he lost focus. He didn’t know what _else_ to do, but his free skate had been different; he’d stumbled but grabbed for the feeling of blades on ice, gliding forward, following the choreography and the jumps he’d been practicing for months on end.

Victory was sweet, and overwhelming, and frightening, and absolutely thrilling. Enough to carry him through interviews with modest replies, Yuuri tamping down on his rising certainty that this was all some kind of surprising mistake.

_I won gold._

He might have a real chance of being assigned to Worlds.

He made it through the press conference, sitting in-between Oda with his silver and Yamada with bronze. He couldn’t remember half the questions, only a blur of impressions of faces and cameras, microphones held up and the one set on the table in front of him. He was still seeing flashes of light behind his eyelids as he blinked, following Celestino out after. 

Celestino handed back his phone, Yuuri nodding a numb thanks as he trailed after him. His thoughts were a whirlwind giving him a headache as he tried slowing them down, elation and pride and uncertainty chasing each other around and around. _This is a mistake_ , he felt, even while he told himself, _You gave a better performance the last few days than you have so far this season._

All in all, his second year in the Seniors division wasn’t going terribly.

He managed a call back to his parents once they were in the hotel room, Yuuri mentally allotting time for a shower before dinner. Tomorrow would come the gala and the banquet; more interviews after, and if he was particularly unlucky, he’d have the joy of being contacted for random drug testing in the next week. Everything as could be expected, but allowing Celestino and his Japanese agent to handle the fine details helped take some stress off his shoulders. None of it was _new_ , and he’d even podiumed as gold while a Junior before, but with the uncertainty of his upcoming assignment…

Yuuri dropped his phone into his lap, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead so he could rub his face. “What happens if I don’t get assigned to Worlds?”

Celestino looked up from where he was pursuing the hotel menu, lifting his eyebrows. “What was that?”

Yuuri hastily adjusted his glasses, clutching for his phone as it vibrated with a notification. He didn’t check what for, only shaking his head and letting out an awkward laugh. “I just was wondering out loud, I’m sorry. When will we know about the assignments?”

Celestino closed the binder, turning around to properly face Yuuri. “Before the banquet tomorrow, by my guess. That was the case last year from what I remember.” He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees and watching Yuuri. “You’re worried about qualifying.”

Yuuri tucked the phone close to his chest, eyes falling to study the floor between them. “It’s just… there’s only one spot at both Four Continents and Worlds. I’m not the most consistent skater, and I’m not the _best_ we have. I just—what if I _don’t_ get assigned to Worlds?”

He watched his coach consider his words, expression kind as he finally drummed up a smile. “Yuuri, right now, you _are_ the best Japan has to offer. A silver at the NHK and a gold at Nationals is a testimony to that fact.”

“But—” 

“If you don’t get assigned to Worlds, you’ll be assigned to Four Continents. And if that happens, what will you plan on doing about it next year?”

Yuuri opened his mouth to protest again, but a protestation wouldn’t make sense. “Does it matter? I’m not the one who makes that call.”

“Yuuri.”

“Coach…”

“What I’m hearing from you is that you want to be the representative sent to Worlds, right? If you’re not sent this year, what could you possibly do in order to influence the JSF’s decision next year?”

“Win Nationals,” he said, feeling a twist of emotion in his stomach. “Considering that’s how they generally choose who goes on to represent Japan.”

Celestino gave him a nod of his head, still waiting. “Beyond that?”

Yuuri allowed his phone to drop down into his lap again, thumb stroking over the surface. The indicator light blinked up at him, slow and lazy, a lovely blue. “Take the podium at Four Continents. Show well in whatever I’m seeded into for the Grand Prix Series. Show well in _any_ international competition I’m invited to, but I don’t see how that helps anything _now_.”

“It doesn’t,” Celestino said, not unkindly. “But if we’re looking for solutions for a problem we don’t even have yet, we’ll have answers on hand to handle it no matter what happens. There’s always next year, Yuuri.”

His thumb went still. “Right.” He looked up, meeting Celestino’s gaze with a small, unhappy smile. Next year wasn’t good enough. He’d shot his mouth off _this_ year, and in short order, he _knew_ he was going to be proven the fool. “You’re that confident things will work out?”

Celestino tipped his head forward, lifting a hand off his knee to gesture across the room. Yuuri wasn’t always sure what those sweeping gestures meant, but after a year and then some to get used to Celestino, he more or less had an idea of what they weren’t. “I have every confidence in your skating! Yuuri, you’ve gone from being hesitant with one quad to wanting to pick up another. You have consistently beautiful step sequences, you nail your choreography, and your musical timing and interpretation are breathtaking. Your hard work is paying off every time you step on the ice. One day, I hope you believe that too.”

Yuuri felt himself blush, caught somewhere between pleased and embarrassed over Celestino’s apparent sincerity. Celestino had agreed to come on as Yuuri’s coach because he saw the potential of helping refine Yuuri’s skills that little bit more he needed to have an edge in Seniors. Yuuri had always considered that a generous understatement, but Celestino’s knowledge and familiarity with the sport, and his gregarious nature, had seemed important when the offer had first been made.

He mostly believed Celestino when he said he believed in Yuuri.

He just wish he _felt_ that confidence, too.

“Thank you,” he said, letting his small smile fade again as he looked back to his phone. The blue light continued its rhythmic blinking. Slower and steadier than his heartbeat. 

Celestino pushed up to his feet, giving Yuuri’s shoulder a pat as he headed for the door. “You’re welcome. Did you want to head out for dinner in about an hour?” 

Yuuri gave a nod of his head, waving his fingers as Celestino headed out the door and down the hall, toward his own room. With a sigh, he clicked on his phone screen, checking for the notification from Twitter. Sliding down to tap and bring up the app, he blinked at the cheery notification.

“Christophe-GC is following you.” He stared at the notification for a moment longer before clicking through to his profile, following Chris in turn. It only seemed polite, considering. 

He left his phone charging on the dresser while he showered, letting the heat of the water sink beneath his skin and into his aches and bruises and bones. His worries were a low simmer in the back of his mind, but most his attention was on sensations, finding himself in a state of almost-calm as he stood under the showerhead.

The tightness in his shoulders had relaxed some by the time he stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped around his neck. His glasses fogged as he put them on, frowning as he took them off again to squint at the digital clock sitting on the side table. There was some time left before he’d meet up with Celestino.

He’d managed to make himself more or less presentable on time, bundled up in a pullover and slacks. Snatching his phone and wallet, he slipped into his comfortable street shoes, double-checking that the room card key was tucked into his pocket. Celestino wasn’t in the hall yet, so Yuuri headed toward the lifts, checking for articles on his phone. It was unnerving, seeing his own name in so many positive frames, with only the odd article or two questioning scoring. Even those were more harsh on fellow competitors than on Yuuri himself. He wasn’t sure he deserved any of that leniency either, but it was beyond his control.

Besides, while the question of his assignments was in the air, he _enjoyed_ winning. He _wanted_ to win. At the same time, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was somehow premature: he’d wake up tomorrow to learn there was some massive error in the point scoring system and really, Yuuri Katsuki placed fourth. Fifth? Ninth.

Shoving those thoughts away, he pulled up Twitter, looking for any updates from Victor. The man was incorrigible when it came to social media: while he didn’t engage much with those who followed him, Victor posted pictures fairly regularly. Russian Nationals had just completed; Yuuri _liked_ the photo taken from the sidelines, each of the medalists leaning in close and throwing up a smile and victory sign.

He scrolled past Christophe congratulating Victor, saying he looked forward to seeing him and the rest at Worlds. Thumb hesitating over the screen, he finally hit _like_ before scrolling on.

Celestino caught up with him and Yuuri tucked his phone away, set on the task of hunting down _katsudon_ for the sake of his own nostalgia, even if his mother’s stayed far out of reach.

* * *

_are you coming to worlds_

Yuuri blinked wearily awake, hand patting along the mattress until he found his phone. The message took a few seconds to register while Yuuri squinted against the sudden light of his phone. 

_Chris, it isn’t even five in the morning yet._

Fighting with autocorrect wasn’t his favourite activity right after waking up, but his initial _chair, it isn’t even give in the morning yet_ would have been mock-worthy, probably. 

_right youre eight hours ahead  
_ _the question still stands!!_

Yuuri rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, sighing as he closed his eyes. He didn’t have an answer for Chris. He _wished_ he did. He _ached_ to say, _Yes, of course I am_ , but he didn’t know if it was true. Eventually he rolled over, staring at the dark blot of his phone. He should answer. He didn’t _want_ to answer.

_They’re announcing the skaters for 4CC and Worlds later today._

Short and to the point. He ignored the vibration of his phone when Chris answered, or someone sent a text, instead closing his eyes and trying to convince himself to sleep again. Fifteen minutes of lying still with his eyes closed did nothing except remind him gently to get up and use the facilities. He sighed, giving in and throwing the covers back, feeling the chill air sweep over him, leaving him in gooseflesh.

He ignored Twitter over the course of his morning, dressed and at the rink with Celestino in time for warming up and rehearsing alongside everyone else. He flexed his fingers, checking the collar of his jacket and zipping up under his chin, only to tug it down again, alternately too warm from his off ice stretching and warm-up on ice, then too cold in the chill air. It was odd to have this kind of chance to be performing at a gala, showcasing a nostalgia piece from over a decade ago. He’d first skated to the soundtrack from _The Matrix_ while he was a novice. The updated program, with the choreography that Yuuri had worked out with Celestino as a reluctant exercise in pushing him to tackle crafting his own program, carried a sentimental value.

He stared out over the ice, people settling into staggered chairs in the stadium seating, and remembered a different rink, and a different show. 

* * *

**Ten years earlier...**

The voices of the crowd blended into a cacophony Yuuri tuned out, focusing on breathing as the boards of the ice rink turned blurry around the edges. He blinked, bothered again by that fuzziness. Was it his mind playing tricks with his eyes again?

Blood roared in his ears as his world turned inward, Yuuri shifting through the motions of his step sequences. He couldn’t settle after he’d stretched out, needing the movement when every time his eyes drifted to the ice, his breath was in danger of being stolen away. It felt too early in the season to be standing here at the Novice Championships; surreal in another sense as he came to a stop, shaking out his arms next to his coach.

She glanced down at him, nudging him toward one of the benches on the lower level, down the stairs. The fluorescent lights didn’t help his vision, leaving him blinking rapidly as he concentrated on breathing. He wasn’t much of a skater, perhaps, but he was here, and he would give a good showing. He _wanted_ to do that much. He loved that feeling that came along with achieving personal success, and even more so, the rush that came with _winning._

He hated losing. Stubbornly, determinedly, refused to let it define him.

Tying his laces with his coach watching, Yuuri relished the familiarity of how his boot held to his foot. His skates were a few months old now, the blades checked and sharpened, laces replaced a few weeks before and everything gone over by his coach yesterday and earlier in the morning. Even at ten, he was studious in looking over his own gear after his coach. It was almost soothing, slipping into that space where caring for his equipment was familiar.

The calm had evaporated. The crowd had quieted again, the boy skating before him finishing his bows and heading for the boards. When he stepped off the ice, he was met by his coach, skate guards handed over and a hand placed on his head, ruffling his hair.

Yuuri tugged down on his costume, adjusting the line of it as he stood. His hair fought being gelled back, errant tendrils already looking to break loose. He ran his hands over them, willing them back into place. He only had to get through his free skate. He had both, a free skate and a short program, but it wasn’t relevant here.

He’d do this. 

His coach gave him the same advice she always did: breathe, enjoy himself, and remember to wave and bow to everyone after. Yuuri had only forgotten once in a local competition, so frustrated with his own performance, but she’d reminded him every time since. He blinked, handing her his skate guards and stepping onto the ice, sliding away from the opening in the boards, the sound of his blades cutting the ice settling into his bones. The roaring of his heart dulled as his focus shifted to his skates on the ice, the way he held himself, the suspended moment when he came to a stop in the center of the rink.

He didn’t need to hear the music to know how to move, pushing off and running through the choreography he drilled in almost daily. Rest days and off-ice days and all his schooltime and eating and sleeping and bathing and those _necessities_ that took him away from the ice felt less real than this, the soaring in his blood and the searing agony when he fumbled a landing on his second jump. The third was better, smooth and landed with a deceptive ease, like he’d been practicing, but the fumble, the hand down on ice as he’d caught himself and skated on, rankled.

He loved figure skating. He loved even more the feeling of confidence that would find him in fits and starts, when he nailed a new step sequence, a new spin, when he landed a jump clean and felt like he was soaring. There was a power and grace in how he moved on the ice, one that had called to him in ballet, years past. He still danced, practiced so that his movements on the ice were all the more compelling, but his affection had changed wholesale.

There were other things he loved: the _katsudon_ his mother made to celebrate his successes, the games he’d found to play on his new phone, the quiet of Hasetsu in the early morning when he’d find his way to Minako’s studio and dance before school. He loved his family, in a distracted, reflexive way. He loved the feeling of the onsen after his aches from the day caught up; melting into the heat for a while with the guests or with his father was wonderful. He loved different pieces of music, he loved movies, he loved that feeling after a day of school ended when he stepped on the ice and everything started to settle into its proper place in his soul.

It was love for a movie that had inspired him when his coach had asked if he had any thoughts for his free skate. He’d pulled out his CD, grateful for his sister’s gift at the New Year, and proudly presented his case.

Now he was at the Novice Championships for his country starting to skate as the stirring swell of music from _The Matrix_ came over the speakers, his black costume flared at his hips, fabric cut and shaped in reminiscence of a trench coat design. Green glitter spilled over one shoulder and down his back, etching out characters that spoke nonsense but neatly echoed the Code from the film. He pulled on his love of his sport and his enjoyment of the music, the movie behind it all. He was sure of his movements through his step sequences, a faltering entrance into one of his spins smoothing out as he exited and built momentum for a jump. Here was Neo, certain of his reality, then having to question everything. He _flew_. He _dodged bullets._ Yuuri swept around fast as if he could imagine his own bullet-time; pulled into a jump like he, too, could achieve flight for a time.

Neo was _so cool_ , and Yuuri only hoped he could do the character and film some tiny justice.

It wasn’t perfect: it grated on him, knowing that, but it didn’t hit until after he found himself in the middle of the rink with his hands crossed in front of his thighs and his chin down against his chest that he’d made it through. To the polite and somewhat enthusiastic applause of those watching, Yuuri remembered to smile, and bow, and turn, and bow again. When he stepped off the ice, accepting his skate guards and his coach’s arm as he slipped them back on, he could feel his heart start to settle, his mind start to race. He put on the jacket his coach held out for him and tried to keep himself from shivering in as the adrenaline high he’d been on mixed with endorphins while he walked up the stairs after his coach.

The upbeat voice of a woman he never met came over the speakers, announcing his score. It was his best skate so far that season, meriting him a place on the podium. As Yuuri smiled for the cameras, one step down from the top, he promised himself: next time. He loved the taste of victory, the elation of winning. He hated, hated losing.

He needed to practice more, smooth out his edges, gain consistency before next season. Going overseas to the novice competitions was expensive, and he wasn’t consistent enough to make his coach or parents consider it a viable step. He returned to Hasetsu, medal in hand, and laid it on the shelf in his closet after he’d eaten his mother’s _katsudon_ and told her, utterly serious, he’d had fun. Winning gold would be even more fun, even if only at novice levels.

A year later, Yuuri sat next to Yuuko and watched a senior skater debut a program with similar inspiration, watched him land a triple salchow and triple combination and go, _I could be like that_ , while also feeling a silly happiness that one of his favourite movies was evidently also a favourite of a man he’d never meet, but who had made a tribute to it look _fantastic_ on ice.

Yuuri hadn’t thought sincerely about aiming for international competitions then. Not long after his twelfth birthday, that would all change.

* * *

“ _Yuuri-kun_ , watch! _Victor-san_ is coming on next!”

“ _Victor-san?_ ” Yuuri glanced up, glasses threatening to slide down the bridge of his nose as he turned toward the television screen. Yuuko had taken over the television set with the staff’s permission once she’d known they’d be training while the Grand Prix Final was on. He’d been half paying attention, going over what he’d discussed with his coach earlier. 

Yuuko grinned, motioning toward the television set. “He’s amazing! He debuted in seniors this year, and he took podium in both his Grand Prix assignments. Everyone’s saying he’s going to take gold at the Grand Prix Finals! He’ll be the youngest gold medalist in the men’s singles division if he does!”

Takeshi snorted, flipping through his magazine. “This the same guy who won the Juniors last year?”

“Junior Grand Prix, Junior European Championships, and Junior Worlds!” She gestured toward the screen again, where Victor was finishing a serpentine to the center of the rink, striking his ready position. “He’s so cool. Watching him skate is exciting!”

Yuuko’s enthusiasm was palpable at his side. He felt it rubbing off on him, his heart beating faster as the music started, the commenters’ voices a droning he tuned out in favour of watching. First in anticipation, then entranced by the teenager on screen.

He moved beautifully, jumped precisely, landed with a grace and assurance that was both perfectly placed and wildly unfair. The way he smiled, the camera angle switching as he soared across the ice, did strange things to Yuuri’s heart.

 _He loves this._ Yuuri breathed in, eyes widening to take in everything on the small television screen. _He loves the ice so much._

_Like I do._

Their coach found it both amusing and frustrating after the fact, how Yuuko and Yuuri fed into each other’s enthusiasm, trying to skate like Victor, duplicating his programs as best they could. Yuuri’s new focus drove him harder than ever, spending more time on the ice, waiting for Ice Castle to unlock in the mornings, antsy before the ice had been smoothed down. He prepared a logical argument for why a miniature poodle would be a beneficial addition to their household, why it wouldn’t be a hassle to the business because it’d be kept out of the business areas and in their upstairs residence, and how it’d be a positive boost for his personal life. The spring following his thirteenth birthday, his parents presented him with a squirming bundle of poodle puppy, and Yuuri had to be responsible for two training schedules. His own, and his puppy’s: Victor, or as he came to be called in short order, Vicchan.

* * *

**In the present…**

Yuuri shook his head; his short trip down nostalgia lane brushed aside as he took off his skate guards, joining the rest of the skaters waiting for their names to be called. They were roughly in order, and it was no surprise when they’d be called out after the earlier warm up and rehearsal. He shared a small reflexive smile with the woman who stood behind him before looking back out at the ice, coloured light dancing across its surface.

“Katsuki Yuuri!”

He stepped through the door, blades cutting across relatively clean ice, lifting a hand to wave. Skating in his home nation was an experience he’d had most his life, but performing like this was usually something he only chanced on if asked to participate in an ice show, which had happened all of twice. The applause was uplifting, even if it was the same generous due paid to each skater as they glided away from the boards. The woman behind him (her name, why couldn’t he remember her name right then?) received an even louder round of applause.

No wonder. Women had been leading Japan’s international success more than men, lately, and views were up for ladies figure skating at levels that had to make everyone on the business end of figure skating in Japan rather pleased.

He’d be less mindful if he wasn’t also perfectly aware of how his parents capitalised on his own modest successes to direct business within his hometown. He supposed his view was more mercenary than romantic when it came to the role of image in marketing, but his agent’s deft handling of his own sponsorships and marketing only reinforced that perception over time.

He and the rest of the skaters made their rounds of the rink, heading back off the ice so that the performances could begin. He didn’t hang around for long to watch what happened on the ice. Even hearing that one of the Novice Champions was starting them off was enough to bring memories creeping back in. They were fond ones, as long as he didn’t think about his skate too closely. He felt much the same about all of his prior seasons.

He’d never be content. Being content implied some kind of plateau he wasn’t ready for, not before he caught up to Victor and met him on equal standing on the ice.

Yuuri listened to his music, picking up into a light jog up and down a side-hall under Celestino’s watchful eye. When he asked to go off and stretch, he found another quiet space to sink into the sounds of his exhibition music. The edge he normally felt leading into a competition was dulled, but still there. Without knowing who was being assigned to which international competition, he was anxious.

Ridiculous as it was, he couldn’t shake that lingering worry, brow furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line as he stretched out his back. The decision over who would be representing Japan at Four Continents and Worlds was already made. It just hadn’t been announced.

He was back with Celestino, laced into his boots and warming them up rinkside, repeating over and over _if I don’t get assigned to Worlds, it’s okay. This is my second year, we only have one qualifying spot._

“Have fun out there, okay, Yuuri?” Celestino’s hand was warm on Yuuri’s shoulder, a reassuring squeeze before he stood ready to take Yuuri’s jacket and skate guards. Yuuri nodded, not quite able to smile. Not yet.

He waited at the boards until he heard his name over the speakers, lifting his chin and smiling as he skated out toward the center ice. At ten, he’d looked up to Neo, to how cool everything he did was; at nineteen, going on twenty, he’d empathised with the other perspectives in the film.

He stood still, hands down to his sides and fingers spread, arms angled out at a forty-five degree angle from his shoulder. He wore all black, shiny, imitation of a high gloss vinyl. His shoulders and arms were left bare, his tight-fitting tank top exposed less of his shoulder blades than he’d expected. He wore a black belt with a dulled buckle around his hips, and in perhaps the most notable difference, his hair was side-parted and slicked down, sunglasses he hadn’t worn earlier now perched on the bridge of his nose. They were banded on, black silicon keeping them in place.

He hadn’t been confident about this decision months ago; but the freedom of not having to worry about his exhibition skate being good enough had taken the edge off. He didn’t smile as he started skating, gaining speed as he swept over the ice and launched into a series of fast steps, throwing himself through a triple axel and landing with a satisfactory _schick_ of blade hitting ice.

The music swung between fast paced action, almost frenetic energy, to slower interims, Yuuri changing the energy of his skating with the rise and fall of the music. He moved quickly, footwork exact, spins tight, setting himself up for the last jump. It was a quad toeloop, more because he could and he _would_ claim it, but he shifted weight, deciding on something else last minute.

Yuuri flung himself into a quad salchow, landing barely, overbalanced and catching himself just before his hand hit the ice.

Whatever else happened, and as imperfect as his jump was, at least he was showing what he could do.

In another year or so.

Yuuri fell to his knees as the music wound down, collapsing backward on the ice with the final, sudden end. He lay that way for a few seconds, panting, before the cold against his shoulders and through the material of his shirt sent him stumbling back to his feet, smiling at last. It was ridiculous, and indulgent, and even if he grimaced at how he’d nearly fumbled his landing, he knew he’d do better once it was officially part of his programs.

 _Next year_ , he reminded himself. He hated how much that sounded like _maybe later_.

Taking his bows, he exited the ice. Soon enough he’d be getting back on for the final performance of the show, the one they’d all run through earlier that day. Then… he tried not to think too hard about what came next.

Regardless, it’d be here soon enough.

* * *

Yuuri stared down at his phone, reading the message Christophe had sent that morning, after Yuuri had stopped checking.

_congratulations on taking gold at nationals  
_ _what were you predicting at NHK? silver?_

He squeezed his eyes shut, disappointment coursing through him strong enough to steal his breath away. His return message was simple, to the point.

_Thank you. I’ve been assigned to 4CC. Good luck at Worlds._

He clicked his phone off, tucking it into his pocket without another glance. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri makes it to Worlds and meets Victor.

Training for Four Continents took over Yuuri’s life. He had his minimal course load, and worked on classwork and attended lectures around his training schedule, up before dawn and back in bed well after night fell. When he didn’t have enough time on the ice, he started looking for alternate ways of working his body until his head quieted down. Options were limited for the time he had available on his schedule; but with over a month until Four Continents, he needed to push himself hard.

He wasn’t quite sure how following a flyer advertised on campus ended up leading him to a pole fitness studio, but once he’d seen the times of classes and learned about the carte blanche for members to use the available studios whenever they were open, including the ballet studio, he found himself firming his shoulders and paying the course fees.

He told Celestino in a roundabout way. “I’m taking a dance class on Thursday evenings, since the ones at the Skate Club are currently conflicting with my training and school schedule.”

Celestino nodded, curious but not the sort to pry. He more and more often waited for Yuuri to come to him with problems, or waited for some push back on the demands he made. For the most part, Yuuri saw no reason to push back; by and large Celestino asked for reasonable things.

At the same time, Yuuri saw no reason to open up when he found reasonable things less palatable, so he didn’t.

He stayed busy enough that he was caught off-guard when the start of the European Championship was suddenly upon him. Yuuri didn’t bother watching the preliminary rounds. Victor wouldn’t be on ice until the men’s short program. Neither would Chris.

He found a livestream that mostly worked, tabbing it up on his phone and laptop before he dove right back into practice. The day passed by in a blur. He was on the ice, then off the ice. He was in the classroom, then out of it. He remembered to eat out of necessity, revisiting his love-hate relationship with protein powders and supplemental smoothies he could down on the go. 

Watching Victor skate over the live feed streaming on his phone, Yuuri felt the familiar ache in his chest. There was nothing more incredible, nothing more inspiring than watching Victor on the ice. Even after all these years he managed to take Yuuri’s breath away.

Chris was also interesting to watch, Yuuri taking in the preciseness of his spins with a watchful eye. There was a crispness to his movement that even Victor didn’t have to the same degree.

The end result days later weren’t surprising: Victor winning gold, Christophe following forty-two points behind with a silver, Lisandro Schiavone lagging behind by twenty-three additional points with a bronze.

More than ever, he wished he could skate on the same ice as Victor, but that goal was now another year away. Yuuri watched Victor’s freeskate over and over, admiring the movements of his arms, the fluidity of his form across the ice, the strength and confidence in his jumps.

He snuck snippets of that choreography into his own on ice practices, counting down the remaining weeks until the Four Continents Championship. It was easy, like sinking back into old habits with Yuuko, thousands of miles away. How were her girls doing? She emailed occasionally, normally short and to the point, every so often sending an attached image of the triplets. Hasetsu felt so far removed from his life, even though the sleepy sea-side town was always carried somewhere in his heart.

Homesickness was a complicated bedmate. It never really left, but he managed it better when he was too busy to mull over every familiarity he missed while in Detroit.

In the end, his tension at Four Continents peaked after his short program. Being afraid he wouldn’t score in the top twenty-four became a nauseating, tearful relief once he realised he was in the top ten, managing third with the strongest performance of his short program so far in the season. It was bittersweet, but the flush of victory left him smiling after he pulled himself back out of the bathroom.

He was nervous and anticipatory for the free skate, pulling ahead into a temporary first after a performance almost as inspired as what he’d given at Nationals. He’d watched the monitor with the same intensity Celestino said he always had, sipping at the water provided while waiting the results. When they’d come, he’d looked stunned, blushing with pleasure as he turned to Celestino.

“I did it?”

Celestino pulled him into a congratulatory hug, one hand slapping against Yuuri’s back.

“You did.”

He wasn’t ashamed to say he did get teary eyed when he held onto first. He was in a different kind of shock as he stood on the podium, smiling because the photographers were there, because he was happy, because he was wondering if he was even awake. He didn’t have a large point margin leading ahead of silver, but to have even come this far?

“Katsuki Yuuri! Where are you planning on going from here?”

He ran a hand through his hair, facing the man and his cameraperson with a small smile. “Back to Detroit to train? I’ll be working on next season’s programs with Coach Celestino.”

“What do you have to say for Oda, representing Japan at the World Championships in another month?”

“I wish him good luck, and I look forward to watching his skating.”

Whatever else he said he couldn’t remember later, and in refusing to watch the interviews, never really learned.

* * *

Chris sent him a congratulations and asked about the emoji from the time before. Yuuri hemmed and hawed before he summoned up an attempt at an answer, waiting in the airport for their plane to arrive. There was barely any time adjustment when he was staying on the same section of the continent; a few hours difference between Colorado and Michigan.

_this is unfair_  
_you should have taken me to get katsudib when we where in Japan!  
_ _katsudon_

Yuuri shook his head, torn between a mild amusement and mild exasperation.

_Next time, Chris_

An answer Chris apparently didn’t like. _when will we both be in Japan??_

_That’s the tricky part, isn’t it?_

He smiled to himself, scrolling through his timeline, looking for new posts from Victor. There—an uploaded photo of the rink he trained at, shot in the early morning light. No one was on the ice, but the overall mood was almost anticipatory. Magical, if he let his imagination get away from him.

Yuuri hit _like_ , then clicked his screen off, looking toward the screens announcing they’d soon be lining up to board in economy.

Life in Detroit settled back into the patterns he was most familiar with, after turning in projects and homework that’d been delayed due to travel time. They debated accepting an invitation to one of the remaining competitions for the year, but decided against it. Yuuri switched focus to improving the consistency of his landings on his quad salchow, consulting with Celestino for any coaches at the Skate Club who might have better experience with the attempt. 

It was Celestino who waved Yuuri over to the boards after his seventh run through on another failed salchow. He couldn’t seem to get his weight distribution right on landing: each time his feet swept out from under him today, frustratingly. Yuuri’s furrowed brow didn’t smooth out when he reached Celestino and stepped off the ice, accepting his water bottle with a murmured _thanks_.

“The JSF just contacted me about an hour ago, I’m guessing you’ll find something in your email. Oda’s knee injury was exacerbated in practice earlier this week. It’s unfortunate, especially with the timing before Worlds. There’s going to be an official press release later today with a statement and more information, but as far as what it means for you...” Celestino crossed his arms over his chest, taking in the way Yuuri stilled and squinted at him, water bottle pressing against his lips. “The JSF is sending you to Worlds.”

Yuuri poured water down his front in his surprise. “Wait, what?”

“Congratulations,” Celestino said with a grin, “You’re going to Worlds.”

* * *

_Oda withdrew due to injury. I’m being sent to Worlds._

Yuuri’s fingers shook in nervous excitement as he sent the message to Christophe, uncertain why he felt the urge to tell him. By and large, Yuuri didn’t talk with many skaters outside of competitions or at the Skate Club. He’d never been good at managing friends, and he hadn’t magically learned _how_ in the last two years in the United States.

Still, Chris had been talking with him, irregular messages sent here and there. If nothing else, Chris was persistent. It was usually what prompted Yuuri into replying. Enough open ended questions and statements eventually merited a response.

There was no gratifying instant reply. Five hours passed before his phone indicated a notification, and by then, Yuuri was heading out to the ballet studio for some late evening practice time. Public transit didn’t run as reliably as elsewhere, but he had time to look over his return message while he was on the short bus-ride over.

_better bring your best appetite Yuuri_

There wasn’t a _katsudon_ emote he could find among the choices provided, but with a little searching, he sent back the closest approximation without bothering to explain the context. He had a week and a half left before he’d be flying out to France.

_Katsudon_ might be more than what he’d merit in a showing once he was there, but it was nice to pretend to that much confidence, if even only in a text.

He was going to Worlds!

* * *

The excitement was tempered down with the drive to perfect his season’s programs, and it was a whirlwind of training (without overtraining) up to his flight out with Celestino. It wasn’t easier once he was actually present, keeping to his own company or Celestino’s for the first two days. Chris tracked him down on the third, dragging him out for coffee and a promise to catch dinner with him and whoever else he drummed up after short programs. 

Which was the exact program he was waiting on now. He flubbed every jump he tried in his warm up, including his run through with the music. Nerves were making him jittery, Yuuri incapable of holding still without finding his foot bouncing in place. He turned up the volume on his music, letting his headphones block out the sounds of the stadium as the second set of skaters took to the ice.

He was here because the JSF’s preferred skater had needed to withdraw due to an injury. Yuuri repressed a shiver, equal parts nerves and empathy. Injury was a constant possibility in what they did; in what any competitive athlete faced, usually a matter of _when_ instead of _if_. He wasn’t happy that Oda was hurt, but at the same time, he was happy to be there.

It was an odd guilt that played on his sense of not belonging there yet, of not having earned this on his own merit. He knew that was false, rationally speaking. If he hadn’t merited being sent, he wouldn’t have been the first alternate. The JSF would have sent someone else without blinking. There was a certain pride to be met on this battlefield, and they wouldn’t choose to willingly send someone who they didn’t think could give a decent showing, whatever the rubric for “decent” might be.

Logic didn’t help. Celestino tried talking with him, but Yuuri only heard one word in ten. He was here, he was skating at the World Championship. In further impossibilities, he was skating in the same round as Victor Nikiforov, the random seeding for short programs having decided to both mock and delight him from the start.

He fiddled with the extra laces tucked into his Team Japan jacket, keeping his hands occupied as he paced back toward where Celestino was watching one of the monitors.

“You’re up one after they resurface the ice,” he said when Yuuri joined him, stroking his chin. He always watched the other skaters like this, eyes partly narrowed, cataloguing their strengths and weaknesses. Yuuri was better at handling that after his own performance was over; beforehand left him tense. Competitive environments had a nasty habit of giving him tunnel vision and nerves.

“Right. How’s…” he asked, gesturing toward the monitor.

Celestino made a speculative noise in the back of his throat. “Good. We’re at Worlds. Everyone’s good.” He cast a sidelong glance Yuuri’s way, tipping his head toward the monitor. “Not all as strong as each other on the ice, and there’s been one or two bad skates. How are you holding up?”

Yuuri’s noncommittal noise didn’t even convince himself. He stroked his thumb over the spare laces again, studying the monitor with a blank expression on his face.

“Mm. Yuuri, I remember how much you wanted this back at Nationals. I’m glad you’re getting your chance.” Celestino smiled, hand dropping away from his chin. “Remember to breathe when you’re out there.”

He blinked, turning his head to look at his coach. “When the alternative is passing out…”

Celestino laughed, shaking his head. Yuuri knew what he meant, but the reminder almost made it more difficult for him to breathe evenly. He wasn’t sure what would help, or if he’d even be able to tell Celestino. _My mental hurdles are feeling too big to scramble over today?_

Nonsense. 

“I’m going to go through my choreography again.”

Celestino nodded, hand resting at his hip. “I think one of the side-halls should have enough room, unless you want to work on things right here? Everyone’s cleared out for the moment.”

He shook his head, bringing his hands up to wave a dismissal. “No! No, it’s fine, the hall’s great, I love halls.” He turned on heel and walked off, intent on finding someplace to keep moving before Celestino said anything else.

He calmed down a little moving through his step sequence, marking the jump leading in and coming out, half imitating steps that couldn’t be performed exactly in shoes instead of on skates. It felt like no time at all before he was back in his boots and heading down the main hall out to the rink with Celestino at his side, earbuds tucked away, expression set. While nervous energy still sparked under his skin, he was keeping his focus.

He shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to Celestino, and pulled off his skate guards. When he took his place on the ice, it was to the collective hum of the announcer and the audience sitting in the stadium. Coming to a stop center rink, he struck his ready position. When the chords of music reached his ears, he _moved._

He only noticed after landing that he’d made his first jump; he’d registered the motions in his step sequences, flowing and on mark with the music. _I belong here._ He threw his hands up as he spun around, pulling his hands down over his chest and thrusting them out and in front of him as he curved through a spread-eagle. _I’ll show everyone it wasn’t a mistake to send me. I’ll show them all my love for the ice._

When he came to a stop back in the center rink, breathing hard, holding his final position, Yuuri heard a faint ringing in his ears that turned into the peculiar roar of the crowd applauding. He let his arms drop, gasping for air, blinking away the sting of tears in his eyes.

He did it. Flashing a grin forward to the judges, Yuuri made his bow, skating to the side in order to turn around and repeat the motion behind him. For the first time that season he’d managed to get through his short program without fumbling any of the jumps. It hadn’t been a perfect performance, he knew that, felt it in his bones, but he’d _done_ it.

A fact only confirmed when his score was announced, setting a new personal best for the season, and a new personal best for his short program overall. Was it enough to win? He ached for it to be, but logically knew it probably wasn’t. Chris and Victor alone had higher difficulty programs and a greater chance at earning positive GOE, and he thought a handful of other skaters did as well. Even so, his shortcomings against the competition didn’t grate as badly as they usually did.

Victor was on ice after him, already circling the rink as Yuuri and Celestino moved away from the kiss and cry. Yuuri balanced on one leg, wiping down his blades before accepting his skate guards back from Celestino, unwilling to look away. He’d watched Victor skate in person before, but never when he was also competing. Never from at the boards.

Yuuri shoved his hands in his pockets, pulling out his glasses and slipping them on so he could see with the level of detail he never wanted for himself. But for Victor? Yes, always yes.

Victor was absolutely breathtaking.

His music this year wasn’t Yuuri’s favourite compared to older programs, but it carried its own weight, dramatic and heavy in turns. Victor’s artistry came through in each of his motions. Yuuri clenched his fists in his pockets, holding onto the laces as Victor landed his quad loop, making it look as easy as breathing. It wasn’t: Yuuri had contemplated it before, given his handling of the triple Axel, but when he wasn’t even landing his quad salchow as he wanted, it felt out of reach.

He tracked Victor across the ice, mesmerised by his movement. He was staring, but hardly cared. Who wasn’t? 

Yuuri realised a moment before Victor landed that something had gone wrong with how he’d taken off. His heart leapt into his throat when Victor landed only to wipe out, going down hard on his side, smacking against the ice. He couldn’t hear over the rush of blood through his ears as he watched in horror as Victor gathered himself up, staying on ice to examine his boot. Was he hurt? What had happened? What was going on?

Lungs burning, Yuuri took a step forward with his hands pulled out of his pockets, reaching forward like he could deny the present reality. Victor didn’t _fall_. He _never_ fell in competition—at least not in recent years. 

It was only when Victor was coming off the ice with an announcement of a three minute pause for equipment failure that Yuuri started breathing again. _So that’s why my lungs were burning_ , he registered; near enough to where Victor was met by his coach stepping past the boards to hear them speaking. In English instead of Russian; Victor was usually conscientious about that, part of Yuuri remembered, just as he registered the words: _snapped laces._

“I know we checked them, but they snapped at the eyelet. There should be another pair in my skate bag—”

Yakov said something sharp and bitten off, either in Russian or English, Yuuri couldn’t tell. Stalking away with a shout of, “Sit!” aimed at Victor, jabbing toward a chair hastily vacated by one of the photographers on this side of the rink. Victor didn’t even glance around as he sank down, already working his ruined laces out of his boot.

Three minutes. Three minutes to get back on the ice, or he was disqualified.

Yuuri didn’t pause to think past that stunned realisation. Here he was finally getting to watch Victor live, as a competitor, _skating_ on the same ice, and Victor might be swept out for a hideous patch of luck.

One moment he stood two metres away, shoving his hand into his pocket. The next he’d crossed that distance, hand thrust forward with the bundled black laces that’d been in his pocket all day, still sporting their sticker tag.

“304 centimetres, cotton-nylon blend,” he said, “Black.” That part was obvious. “You have to skate,” he said, belatedly realising he was still talking, that he sounded demanding and desperate and afraid. “Please.”

Victor’s eyes caught his for only a moment; then Victor nodded, fingers flying and tugging and pulling his broken lace free. “Open it up, find the center.”

Yakov still hadn’t come back, and the seconds were ticking past. Yuuri tore off the sticker keeping the lace neatly coiled, smoothing it out and finding the center with his fingers. Victor dropped the torn halves of his lace to the side, reaching out to snatch at the dangling ends.

“Hold the center here,” he said, tapping where he meant with his little finger before he was threading the ends of the laces through both eyelets with surprising speed. Yuuri didn’t know what to do outside of listen: he knelt down, knees hitting the padded ground as he centered the lace for Victor’s shoe and pressed his finger down firmly against the base of the tongue of his boot.

Yakov appeared at their side, grunting and remaining standing. “So you’ve found one,” he said, sounding more foreboding than anything else. Victor didn’t respond, and Yuuri didn’t know what to say, opting to likewise remain silent.

_How long should I stay like this?_ Yuuri barely breathed, holding himself still and willfully not thinking about the fact he was touching Victor’s skate while Victor was lacing up. _Would I ever let someone do this?_ Practically speaking, yes, but Yuuri in general didn’t even like his coaches checking his skates once they were on. 

Yuuri finally moved when Victor tied his laces, shuffling backward on his knees in an awkward fashion to give Victor room to stand. Yakov took Victor’s elbow, escorting him back rinkside with a low muttered question along the way. Victor shook his head, glancing back to smile in Yuuri’s direction, but he was clearly distracted. His three minutes were almost up, and he needed to be back out there.

Victor stepped on the ice, gliding forward and arcing around to where he’d been when he fell. The music cued a few seconds before; his jump was a loss, but everything that followed after depended on Victor striking with the momentum and flow that most would have lost after the interruption.

He was moving as soon as the music hit the right note. Yuuri watched with his hands clutched over his heart, seeing Victor settle right back into the same persona he’d carried before the fall. He skated like nothing had happened, the emotion behind him coming through strong as he followed the music and his choreography, launching into another jump to a gasp from Yuuri.

Victor landed it, the applause from the audience instant, overwhelming. _Beautiful._ In person it was almost too much, making him ache with an intensity that made catching his breath difficult.

He didn’t think about what he’d done or offered until after Victor finished his program, coming to a graceful stop with his head tipped forward, hands lightly touching either shoulder. The audience called out and applauded, moved down the steps to toss flowers and plush stuffed animals and letters on the ice. The flowerboys and flowergirls in their bright costumes swept out and started collecting the testimonies to Victor’s popularity off the ice while he bowed, smiling bright and wide for the audience he loved.

Celestino tapped his shoulder, mentioned something about a brief statement Yuuri needed to give, and they both turned away, leaving down the hall before Victor made it back to the kiss and cry.

“ _Katsuki-kun! That was your best skate for your short program this season. It was thrilling to watch! How are you feeling about tomorrow’s free skate?_ ”

“ _I haven’t seen the rest of how everyone’s skating today, so it’s hard to say. I do feel good about my short program, though I could stand to improve it still._ ” He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “ _I’m thankful for everyone’s continued support, and I’m honoured by any well-wishes for tomorrow’s freeskate._ ”

“ _Of course! We’re all cheering for you, Katsuki-kun._ ” Morooka smiled, giving a firm nod of his head. Both commenter and at times interviewer, he was a stalwart fan of figure skating, that was for sure. “ _We’re sure you’ll skate beautifully tomorrow as well!_ ”

Yuuri smiled and bowed in acknowledgement, the dip brief and shallow, straightening up to be met with a microphone shoved in his face and another question, this time in English. “Yuuri, do you have any comment on Victor Nikiforov’s skate? His scores have just been announced, and he’s taken the lead from you, even after that fall. How are you feeling?”

He smiled, much more readily than before. “Like things are going great, really. I was scared like everyone else when he went down that hard, but he’s incredible, he got back out there and skated so well. It’s a privilege to get to see that kind of dedication in person. I couldn’t be happier for Victor.”

“Even though he’s taken the lead?”

Yuuri’s confusion had to be showing on his face. “I don’t see how that’s surprising? It’s exciting when you have people so amazing to face out there on the ice.” He dropped his hand away from the back of his neck, fixing the man asking the question with a direct stare. “I’m looking forward to skating against him tomorrow. Isn’t everyone?”

“He’s definitely the skater to beat,” the interviewer agreed, laughing as someone else stepped forward.

“Speaking of Victor, what happened between you two after his equipment failure?”

Yuuri glanced at Celestino, brow furrowing. He must have managed to get across how little he knew what to say to that, because Celestino slid in and threw an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, smiling.

“I’m sure that’s a question that can wait for later. Yuuri will be glad to answer further inquiries after tomorrow’s free skate. Please continue to support him!”

Celestino’s arm dropped away after they’d started walking, Yuuri swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. 

“Holding up okay?”

“Yes,” he said, regardless of how he was feeling. “I might stay in tonight.”

“Order room service with whatever those vouchers were?”

Yuuri snorted, looking forward before they reached one of the benches where he could take off his skates. “Something like that.”

Only later would he remember he’d promised Chris he would go out with him and whoever else Chris rallied. By then, plans had already ended up changing.

* * *

_yuuri! victors knight in black laces!_  
_he wants you to stop by his room so he can say ty abs return your laces_  
_and_  
_tho my abs are great ty phone_  
_hes in room 731  
_ _dinner after?_

Yuuri stared down at his phone, eyes widening as the reality sunk in. “What?” he exclaimed to his empty room, head jerking back as he blinked down, disbelieving. He’d half expected to hear from Chris, belatedly remembering they were supposed to go out and catch dinner with him and whomever else.

What he hadn’t expected was for Chris to blithely tell him to go visit Victor Nikiforov. 

Yuuri felt his stomach clench, dropping his phone into his lap after sending back a short response: _Okay._ He didn’t know what else to say, other than asking questions he had no real reason to ask Chris. He could probably ask Chris just to pick it up for him, but then he was being rude by not allowing Victor to say thank you, wasn’t he? Or was it more rude to… go knocking on doors he was invited to knock on.

He tossed his phone to the side and pushed off the bed, pacing as he tried to decide if he should go. The absurd thought on what he should wear flashed through his mind: he’d dressed down into clean sweats to lounge around his room. Did it matter? He wasn’t planning on leaving the hotel. Then again, originally he _had_ been planning on going out… or Chris had been planning on it. 

Yuuri shook his head, pulling on one of his coats and shoving his feet into his runners. Overthinking things wouldn’t make it easier. He’d get this over with, tell Chris he didn’t feel like eating out tonight, then curl up in his room watching videos online and ordering some dish with chicken for the night. Protein was a good idea.

Taking the lift two floors up, Yuuri picked the direction with the right number set under its arrow. He shouldn’t get turned around like that, but when the hall split—twice—he revised his original estimate. By the time he found Victor’s actual door he was ready to call it quits and attempt to find the lifts again, or maybe the stairs, but that required not getting lost on the way back.

Fed up, nervous, and also a little excited, he stood outside Victor’s door with his hand raised, holding his breath while he knocked twice, _rap-rap_. For a long moment nothing happened: he heard someone call out from inside, unable to make out what was said. Probably _go away_ or _I forgot to put up the Do Not Disturb sign_ or _is that room service?_

The door swung open, Victor smiling and half-hopping backward to open the door wider. “Yuuri! Thanks for coming by, Chris said he’d probably be able to get ahold of you when we couldn’t find you or your coach after the short program. Come in, come in!”

Yuuri didn’t budge, brow furrowed in confusion. “I, what?”

Victor tipped his head in toward the room behind him, flashing Yuuri an apologetic smile. “I’m keeping off my knee for the moment.” 

Which explained nothing, but did give Yuuri a sudden fear that Victor’s fall had been more injurious than it’d appeared. “How bad is it?”

Yuuri was stepping inside only half aware he’d moved at all, caught up in a strange sense of déjà vu. Victor gestured down toward one leg, where his casual sweats had been rolled back to expose his knee and the spectacular bruise just starting to bloom.

“Bruising more than anything else,” he said, sounding almost cheerful. With the door closed behind them, Victor gamely walked back to the nearest bed, moving slowly. “I’ve been icing for the time being, stretching for the rest of it.”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Victor scooted himself further onto the mattress, next to where an icepack was half-wrapped in a towel. “So, do you usually carry spare laces in your pockets?”

“Ah, not really. Most of the time my spares stay in my skate bag when I’m competing.” Standing looking down at Victor was uncomfortable, but so was inviting himself to sit at the small desk. Yuuri shifted his weight foot to foot, watching Victor pull his leg up on the bed and gently bend his knee.

“Then it was my lucky day, huh?” he smiled, leaning to the side to drag his skate bag closer. “Yakov managed to get my spares out, but you helped save me time in getting back on the ice. Thank you, Yuuri.”

Already starting to wave his hands in front of him in dismissal, he was saved from needing an answer by a knock on the door. Whoever it was called out Victor’s name, prompting him to laugh and shake his head.

“Sorry, that’s probably Chris. Would you mind letting him in?” Victor waited for a nod from Yuuri before flashing him a brief, appreciative smile and continuing to dig around in his skate bag. 

Yuuri wondered if it’d be rude to slip out the door past Chris or whomever was knocking and just head back down to his room. Surely he wouldn’t be missed too much. Talking any more with Victor when Yuuri felt like all the worst of him was all there was to offer, even in spite of his performance earlier that day, was almost too much.

He opened the door to find Chris standing in the hall, dressed just as casually as Victor and him in a clean tracksuit. “Yuuri, good, you’re here!” Chris swept right in, looping an arm across Yuuri’s shoulders and spinning him around as the weighted hotel door closed behind them. “Has Victor said a proper thank you?” 

Victor quirked up his eyebrows, pulling a bundled lace out of his bag. “I don’t know, have I?”

Yuuri held his hands up, Chris’s weight pulling down on one shoulder. “Yes, very much so, thank you! I mean, you’re welcome?”

Chris laughed, letting go of Yuuri as Victor held out one hand, offering the bundled lace. “I can buy you a replacement for this one if you prefer, just let me know what brand. Unless it’s a sponsor thing?”

“No, nothing like that.” He stepped forward, holding his hand out in turn. 

“Good! No one to be offended then.” Victor carefully set the tied laces in Yuuri’s hand, giving an affable nod of his head. 

Chris made himself at home on the end of the same bed Victor sat on, leaning over to look at Victor’s knee. “That’s going to be a pretty bruise. Nothing worse than a strong knock?”

Victor nodded, slowly stretching his leg out. “Hasn’t even really been swelling.”

Chris whistled, shaking his head and pulling out his phone. “Keeping that one off internet unless for now?” He tapped away at his phone screen, doing who knew what.

“Yakov and I agreed after having one of the medical staff give a look at it. I’ll try wrapping it in a little while. Yuuri, were you planning on heading out for dinner tonight?”

Chris and Victor both looked up, Yuuri shoving his hand with the coiled lace in it into his jacket pocket. “Um,” he said, glancing to Chris. “No?”

Chris snorted, leaning in toward Victor and stage whispering. “I managed to get him to agree to go out to dinner with whatever group I could find. Which would usually include you, Victor, but seeing as you’re on rest for tomorrow, why not eat in?” He moved his hands to brace against the bed behind him, cocking his head to the side and quirking an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

A flash of amusement curled Victor’s lips up at the corners. He zipped up his skate bag, glancing toward Yuuri. “You’re welcome to order in with us, if you want.”

“Please, Yuuri, save me from being alone with this creaky old man!” Chris winked, Victor snorting and listing sideways as he flopped slowly to the mattress.

“I’m wounded,” he said. “I’m not even twenty-four yet, and he calls me old and _creaky_.”

Yuuri felt like an outsider even standing in the same room as them, watching two people who were clearly friendly with each other while he was more… awkward. He glanced down, trying not to purse his lips. Part of him wanted to stay, but the larger part of him didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of Victor. The more time he was there, the greater the likelihood became.

“You’re not old,” Yuuri said, glancing up with the smallest hint of a smile. “I think we’re all a little creaky. Especially first thing in the morning.” His smile faded, Yuuri settling into a more neutral expression as he swallowed down the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “Thank you for the offer, but I really should head back to my room.”

Chris pouted, sighing and fixing Yuuri with a stare. “You’re even younger than I am, but so responsible! Let’s push our dinner date off until tomorrow then.”

Victor propped himself up on an elbow, flashing Yuuri a small smile. “Early night?”

Yuuri nodded, either to Victor’s question or to Chris’s statement, possibly even to both. He edged toward the door, fingers of his free hand twitching. “Yeah. Today was… really surprising. Have a good night,” he said, reaching for the door.

“Good night!” Victor called out, Chris quick to add, “Tomorrow, Yuuri!”

He closed the door carefully behind him, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall for a moment. Victor was overwhelming up close, even if he was also very… down to earth? Nice? Focused and determined and taking care of his body with an eye firmly fixed on tomorrow’s free skate.

Yuuri opened his eyes again, fingers clutching his returned lace. His stomach settled into a different kind of nervous, the kind that anticipated the challenge he’d be facing in the morning. Yuuri might not have had the stomach or confidence to take Victor up on his offer to join them for a meal, but he _would_ show his appreciation in a way they both understood: on the ice, skating the program he’d been working on perfecting all season. Even if it didn’t net him the win over Chris that he’d ill-advisedly mouthed off about earlier in the season, he couldn’t afford to do less than his best.

Just like Victor. 

He nodded, blinking in mild surprise as he realised he was holding the bundled lace up in front of his face, held tight in his determined fist. Hastily he shoved the lace back into his coat pocket, turning on heel and marching down the hall.

This time he only got half-lost once in his attempt to find the lifts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri finds himself heading out to dinner with Chris and Victor. It's a bit of a surreal occurrence.

There was something to be said for the admiration he felt for Victor achieving the gold even when he’d been set-back in his short program, and skated the whole of his free with an aching knee. They were all used to the pains they practiced and competed with, but Victor managed to pull it off with a grace Yuuri wouldn’t have believed after seeing the start of his bruising the night before.

It did nothing to lessen the burn in his stomach at ranking _fourth_. Chris managed to win silver for the second year in a row, a skater from Spain taking bronze. What was his name? Simón Paquito? 

Yuuri shook his head, half-listening to Celestino as he finished lacing on his runners, checking that his skates were fully dry and packed away into his bag as they should be. Yuuri wasn’t satisfied with fourth, though he registered that it meant he’d managed to earn Japan two spots at Worlds next season. Gratifying, but not better than standing on the podium and holding Chris off from the silver. Definitely not better than the improbable dream of standing on the highest step, holding both Chris and _Victor_ off from defending their now consecutive titles.

The whirlwind of press conferences and interviews were kicking off soon, Yuuri blissfully excused from half those because of his half point difference leaving him in fourth instead of third. It wasn’t good enough, clearly. He hadn’t been able to say what he wanted to on the ice. Not satisfactorily.

Chris fell in step with him after appearing from one of the side halls, zipped into his Switzerland jacket and looking rosy cheeked and bright eyed following his second silver at Worlds. “Victor managed to outskate everyone once again, didn’t he?” He glanced sideways at Yuuri, lips pulling up into a grin. “Though I managed to hold you off, too.”

“This time,” Yuuri agreed, more polite than anything else. There was a sense of appreciation for Chris’s skill, but there was also that underlying competitive desire to _outdo_ him, and the burning awareness that he’d ill-advisedly boasted he would, only to fail.

He _hated_ how that felt. Moreso for not being able to keep his fool mouth closed months ago during the NHK Trophy.

“You might not be eating me off the podium quite yet, but we _are_ eating out,” Chris said, all the ease of his declaration being followed by a hand sliding across the small of Yuuri’s back as he leaned in and winked, tugging him slightly off balance. “Right, Yuuri?”

“Chris! That sounds even more stupid every time you say it!” Elbowing him sideways, Yuuri regained his equilibrium with little more than a stiff-backed stumble.

Chris laughed, straightening up, rubbing at where he’d been elbowed without an ounce of contrition. “Ah, but you said it first.”

Yuuri lifted his hands to his face, sliding his fingers under his glasses to rub at his eyes. “Believe me, I’m still regretting it, but fine, fine, dinner. I promise.”

“Good.” Chris cupped his hands around his mouth, calling out down the hall. “Victor! We’re eating out tonight!”

Victor turned away from his coach, lifting a hand and waving. “Okay! After the press conference?”

“I’ll figure out the timing! Don’t want anyone coming too early or showing up too fashionably late.” He winked at Yuuri, waving as he headed off, his coach standing just down the way. “I’ll be in touch, Yuuri. Keep your phone on wireless!”

Celestino waited until Chris had turned toward his own coach before smiling slantwise at Yuuri. “Making friends?” 

Yuuri grimaced, rubbing at the back of his neck. The prickling sensation that felt like being stared at by too many people he didn’t know refused to fade. He closed his eyes, breathing in and exhaling before he answered his coach. “We’re just heading out to dinner together. Did you need me for anything tonight?”

“No, I’ll be fine, we don’t have anything more to think about until tomorrow. You’ll be in the gala, remember, so that’s early morning practice. Try not to stay out too late.” Celestino smiled, giving Yuuri a sideways hug across his shoulders. “It’s good to see you socialising with more of the international skaters. It’s nice when you have friends at competitive events, and you’ve even managed to pick the two top skaters in the world.”

Yuuri hadn’t picked either of them, not really. Chris had been persistently friendly, and inconsistently inquisitive and requesting a response. Victor was… Yuuri didn’t know how to explain Victor. Victor was friends with Chris, or so it seemed, and so now they were friends through a friend. Indirect friendships counted, didn’t they? Half the time he was convinced that was how he’d ended up friends with Takeshi back home. Both of them had been friends with Yuuko, and eventually, they’d ended up being friends too.

He shook his head, vaguely wondering how Yuuko and Takeshi were doing with the triplets. How old were their girls now? His mind was an unhelpful blank. 

He puzzled over ages as he made his way back to the hotel, parting ways with Celestino once they reached the fifth floor. He showered and set up his laptop to watch the stream of the press conference, flopping down on his belly and rolling on his side to stretch out his quads, one at a time. The questions were fairly standard, Yuuri half listening to Christophe and Simón. Whenever Victor answered, Yuuri looked up and studied the screen; he’d been doing that for so many years it was an ingrained reflex.

Victor looked happy, or maybe excited? Yuuri rolled over onto his stomach, peering close at his monitor. What was it that seemed different about Victor this year?

_“Mr. Nikiforov, what are your thoughts about this coming season? Is there anything you’re looking forward to seeing?”_

_“I’m looking forward to what everyone’s going to bring to the ice. There’s been some great talent this year, people just hitting their stride. I expect next year’s season will be even more surprising than this one.”_

_“Is that a hint at what your programs will be like this coming autumn?”_

Victor winked on screen, holding a finger up to tap against his lips. _“We’ll just have to see.”_

Yuuri rested his chin in his hand, puzzling over Victor’s claim that this last season had been exciting, only to be followed by an even more exciting _next_ season. What in the world did he mean? Was it about Simón taking bronze? He was a decently strong skater, so that probably made sense, but he was also older than Victor. There were rumours he’d be retiring before next season: all currently unconfirmed, including in the ongoing press conference.

The mystery of Victor’s words remained unsolved even after the conference ended, Yuuri rolling himself off the bed and heading for the bathroom to get ready for whatever Chris and Victor considered “eating out.” It probably didn’t involve meal vouchers, he thought with a small, amused sigh. 

Chris messaged him after he’d washed his face. 

_lobby in half an hour  
_ _how do you feel about Italian food_

Ambivalent, if he was honest, not that he’d say so in front of Celestino. Most Yuuri’s cravings inevitably came back to food from home. 

_Italian food in France?_

Chris’s reply was short, likely distracted. 

_yeah. victor has something in mind_

Which was cheating, because while Yuuri wasn’t any more invested in the thought of Italian cuisine, he was invested in figuring out what Victor had in mind. With the number of articles and interviews Yuuri had read, did Victor ever mention preferring Italian food over French? Having a favourite restaurant? He remembered Victor having skated once at the Coupe de Nice soon after he came to the senior division, but that had to have been six years ago.

_Hope it isn’t expensive._ Pulling on a sweater and searching out his travel mask, Yuuri held it in hand, considering. He eventually set it back down on his dresser. He wouldn’t be sick before tomorrow, as long as he was careful about what he ate. Getting a cold at this point would almost be his universal due.

On that cheerful thought he shoved his wallet into his pocket, tying his runners back on and hoping no one looked at his feet. Wearing slacks and his second nicest sweater, which was also his warmest one, meant he was almost presentable if Victor had a fancier establishment in mind. Why hadn’t he asked Chris for more information? Because it wouldn’t have mattered at that point, not after having made up his mind.

Yuuri watched the numbers over the lift door count down to the lobby, bending his knees as it slowed and leveled out. He was early, walking out into the lobby and heading for the front doors, scanning the room for any sign of Chris’s distinctive hair. He didn’t see gold on first glance, only silver.

Victor stood close to the entry doors, checking his phone. He was dressed casually, in well made clothes that draped off him in a flattering way; unfair, but also a constant in Victor’s life from what Yuuri knew. There was only that one photoshoot from when he was twenty that Yuuri had unequivocally decided was unflattering, for all opinions among fans had been divided. Which he had to remember not to think right now, because as a _fan_ , his heart rate was going to start elevating, and being jittery and nervous in front of his idol would mean he’d make a fool of himself even more than he already had, when he hadn’t stayed the other night and why were Chris and Victor trying to get him to eat out with them anyway and he didn’t know that he cared to really go out but it might be nice, hah, nice in _Nice_ , with its differences in pronunciation if not spelling— 

His cycling thoughts were interrupted when Victor looked up, catching sight of Yuuri and flashing him a smile. “Yuuri!” He waved, tucking his phone into a pocket of his coat, scarf wrapped loose around his neck. Yuuri didn’t have a choice but to approach, lest he be rude. 

When he was closer, Victor’s expression turned wry. “Chris said he’s running five minutes late.”

Yuuri inclined his head forward in a nod, unsure if there was anything he needed to say. Victor took his silence in stride, gloved fingers tapping against his upper thigh. “You talk with Chris on Twitter?”

Blinking, Yuuri nodded, slower that time. “Yes?”

Victor hummed, looking over the lobby. He smiled reflexively at two people wearing press badges, not letting his attention linger for long. “Do you happen to use WhatsApp or anything like that?”

He hesitated, starting to frown. “I… do, yes. Some of my rinkmates in Detroit convinced me it was a good idea.” It’d ended up being convenient when checking schedules at his second dance center, where he’d first gone to learn pole-dancing, but there was no need to mention as much to Victor. “Why?”

“Chris has WhatsApp,” Victor said, finally shifting his gaze to Yuuri. “Same with me.” He lifted his eyebrows, watching Yuuri.

Yuuri stared back at him. It took a shamefully long thirty seconds for him to figure out what Victor was hinting at, leaving him patting at his pockets and fumbling as a blush stole over his cheeks. “Oh! Oh, I, did you want to exchange numbers?” It was a neat means of bypassing limitations on mobile plans by using data instead of texting when it might well be fraught with roaming charges. “I can ask Chris when he gets here—”

Yuuri cut himself off, pulling his phone free of his pocket and watching with wide, horrified eyes as he fumbled with it, losing hold as the phone started to fall. Everything happened in slow motion: his phone slipped out of his hands, fingers spread wide in protest. He gasped, freezing even when he knew he should move, eyes tracking the inevitable doom of his phone.

Then Victor shot forward, snatching Yuuri’s phone out of the air. He followed through on his momentum, executing a half spin on his uninjured leg to come to a stop directly in front of Yuuri, eyes flashing as he smiled in undeniable satisfaction.

“Caught it,” he said, extending Yuuri’s phone back to him. Yuuri could feel how red his face was as he reached out to accept his phone back, already stumbling through apologies and thank yous, embarrassed beyond belief. He wasn’t an inherently clumsy person; this wasn’t the version of himself that he wanted Victor to _see_.

Applause interrupted his stream of apologies, Chris’s steps light and almost jaunty as he crossed the lobby. “Well done! I always knew Victor would be a brilliant catcher.” Chris’s eyes sparkled with good humour behind round glasses frames, Victor shaking his head and breathing out in a huff of laughter.

“For selective audiences,” Victor said, lips twitching up into an amused, almost indulgent smile. “Singular ones, if you’re suggesting I move into pairs.”

Chris moved into his space, tweaking the collar of Victor’s jacket with an artful shrug. “Quality over quantity. So what’s this Italian place you have your heart set on?”

Yuuri found it easier to fall quiet and listen to Chris and Victor banter back and forth, catching some of the innuendos and wordplay, figuring there was more he was missing. The comfortable give and take between them pointed toward a history of similar exchanges; oddly, he didn’t feel excluded. It might have been the way one or the other of them would glance over or direct a comment toward Yuuri, drawing him into the same conversation as they ended up piling into a cab.

“Really, Victor, why Italian? That’s fairly popular back home, and we’re not actually in Italy.”

Victor had his phone out again, bringing up his preferred messenger application. “This place had the best reviews from locals and travelers alike, and I managed to get a reservation.” He smiled, holding his phone out to Yuuri while he looked at Chris. “Italian’s popular in Russia, too. Have you heard of sushi-pizza?”

Yuuri’s noise of disgust drew their attention, Chris chuckling while Victor grinned.

“Doesn’t sound appetising?”

“Not if sushi in Russia resembles even half of what I’ve run into in Detroit.” 

At that Victor laughed, settling back in his seat. He glanced down at his phone in Yuuri’s hands, leaning over just enough to see the screen. “Don’t forget the country code when you’re putting your number in. Do you have one for the United States, or just Japan?”

_Right, we were supposed to exchange numbers._ Yuuri dutifully started typing his number, making a small noise of dissent in the back of his throat. “Same phone I got before coming overseas, different sim card. I’m on a pay by the month plan with one of the carriers in the US.” Consequently, it was his Stateside phone number he was putting into Victor’s contacts. Yet another surreal happening for the day.

Chris watched them both idly, glancing out the window after a moment. “I’m offended you only told me you had Twitter, Yuuri.” When Chris turned his face back toward him, he didn’t look offended in the slightest. 

“I don’t remember you asking,” he said, handing Victor back his phone. He had to fight against wiping his palms on his pants, afraid he’d been clammy-handed the whole time. He settled on letting them rest there instead.

“I didn’t.” Chris leaned in to peer down at Victor’s phone, lazily resting an folded arm on Victor’s shoulder. “Group chat?”

“Figured it’d be easiest. You’re okay with that?” Victor’s eyes met Yuuri’s, asking before he handed over Yuuri’s contact information to Chris, like it really mattered. Which was ridiculous. Yuuri wasn’t sure if he was more or less nervous when Victor had his information. As soon as he made a chat and sent anything to him, it’d become Yuuri’s responsibility to reply. With a weaker smile, he rolled his wrist, making a small gesture for him to go ahead.

If not speaking was a flower, then by now his hands were full of words and he had only himself to blame.

Yuuri’s phone buzzed in his pocket a short while after, Victor making idle commentary on the architecture they were passing by on the road. He seemed to know about Nice, things Yuuri wouldn’t have considered asking. He’d never been much for sight-seeing, though he couldn’t say why. He didn’t dislike the idea. His focus was simply always elsewhere.

They piled back out of the vehicle at the corner to a narrower side-street, Chris stretching and rolling his shoulders, arching an eyebrow as he looked back toward Victor. “How much further from here?”

“Up the street, a block or so.” Victor was nonchalant as he stretched out his legs, keeping his heel pressed against the ground as he pointed the toe of his shoe skyward. Setting off, even from down the way, showed a few people lingering on the side of the street, talking to each other on the sidewalk.

“Right around there?” Yuuri ventured, gesturing up the road. Victor tilted his head to the side before smiling, shoulders lifting for a small shrug.

“Seems possible. Anyway, do you like pizza?”

Yuuri blinked before realising the question had been directed his way. Chris lifted his eyebrows as they made their way up the street, shaking his head and looking forward. “ _Pizza._ ”

“I… don’t object to pizza? Which kind?” As Detroit had taught him, one country’s understanding of pizza varied (sometimes wildly) from another’s.

“Italian style,” Victor said, Chris laughing. Belatedly, Yuuri remembered Victor had asked about Italian food in the first place, implying the answer long before Yuuri had asked. He felt himself flushing in embarrassment, apologising and looking toward the pavement.

“I’m sorry, I know you’d said this was Italian earlier.”

“Victor can hardly fault you for forgetting. He’s done the same thing to me before,” Chris said, sounding amused.

Victor laughed, hands held up to shoulder level, shrugging. “I’m luckier when I don’t forget the important things I promise people.”

Yuuri didn’t entirely know what to make of that. 

As it turned out, the handful of people lingering on the sidewalk were waiting for the same restaurant, cheerful enough and all five of them locals. One couple, and another trio of friends, all capable at conversing through a pidgin of French and English and charades, as Yuuri found out. He was the only skater who didn’t speak French, feeling for the first time like being merely bilingual wasn’t satisfactory enough.

Not that he minded listening to the brief statements Victor made in French. The cadence was different from English and from Russian, the way Victor’s accent manifested altered, somehow. It was only a matter of minutes before the owner slipped out front, Victor engaging him in a short, lively conversation that ended with them being ushered into the cramped inside with its cosy decor and atmosphere. Their table was small; every table inside the restaurant interior was small, busy with conversation and laughter and peppered silences as people indulged in pizza and what might have been desserts. At the end of a row, a third chair had been pulled around, leaving them with very little tablespace past where they’d juggle setting their individual pizzas.

Everything smelled fantastic. Yuuri breathed in, glancing around without allowing his eyes to linger on any one person or plate for long. The pizzas were personal sized, large as a dinner-plate and more reminiscent of those ones he’d seen in Detroit than the ones he’d had back home. 

The menus were in French, Victor reading off it in English with a musing air. He glanced toward Yuuri and winked; Chris joined in not long after, the two of them getting through the menu in short order. They ordered three different pizzas on the premise of trying some of each. 

After, he barely remembered what happened that evening. Not because he’d gotten drunk, though he had sipped at the complementary limoncello served toward the end of dinner. Yuuri simply recalled disjointed snippets: the pizzas had been delivered, each heart shaped; the tomato sauce had been fulfilling in an unexpected, flavourful way; the water he’d chosen over the microbrewery offerings had been quenching. He’d even given in to Victor’s enthusiastic prompting and tried the pistachio cream over panna cotta, making an equally surprised noise of appreciation when he’d tasted it, for all he balked at Victor’s first unthought attempt to feed him with his spoon.

Everything had a sort of surreality to it, Yuuri deceptively relaxed and alternately twitchy, fingers curling in toward his palms and uncurling again as they hit the streets once more. He was quieter than both other men, partly out of intimidation, partly out of not feeling he had all that much to say.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” he surprised them all with stating once they had meandered down to the main road, across from the promenade along the shore. It _was_ beautiful; the city lights dotted the dark line of the shore, cars driving past and carrying their own light with them. The waters offshore reflected warm orange and cool white light, along with the heavy, half-full moon that hung low in the clear night sky. He still felt embarrassed at giving voice to a thought he usually kept internalised, quietly noting a moment in the world where he saw a beauty that might otherwise have escaped his notice.

Chris glanced sideways at Yuuri, chuckling. 

Victor looked his way, studying him for a moment. “Cities often are,” he said, smiling for a moment. Victor lifted his gaze toward the stars barely visible out over the sea, blinded by the pollution of light from the city all around them. “In all seasons.”

Yuuri found himself crammed in the middle of the cab they took back toward the hotel, trying to make himself very small and hold very still, minimizing contact where he could. He wanted to believe neither Chris nor Victor noticed. 

Chris hummed a thought, leaning against the door-side of his seat and raising a finger to tap by his temple. “Yuuri, what’s your prescription strength?”

He answered automatically, brow furrowing as he turned his head toward Chris after. “Why?”

Chris whistled, low and impressed. “Curious. I think that makes my eyes worse than yours, if I remember how the numbers work right.” He took his glasses off, turning them around and offering them over to Yuuri. “What do you think?”

Yuuri stared at the offered glasses, flicking his eyes toward Chris, then back to the glasses. Was he really…? When Chris continued to offer them over, Yuuri gave a slow shake of his head and tentatively pulled his own glasses down, resting on the tip of his nose. Accepting Chris’s glasses, he held them up in front of his face, looking out through the lenses. His eyes took a moment to adjust, blinking and squinting as the subtle strain set in, details of the cab interior cast in sharp, almost dizzying relief. 

“Stronger, I think? I’m not sure, it’s hard to say. I’d have a headache either way,” he offered, handling Chris back his glasses. “Trying to adjust to a prescription that isn’t mine.”

Chris grinned, accepting his glasses back, but folding them and hooking them over the collar of his shirt. “Is your prescription still changing?”

Yuuri had absolutely no idea why Chris was on this topic of conversation, but given how monitored health was in their sport, it was oddly one of the less invasive series of questions. “They look like they’ve steadied out. Last time I didn’t need an adjustment.” He paused. “What about you?”

“Not yet. I’ve been told it should happen in the next year or so.” He unhooked his glasses from his shirt, leaning past Yuuri to offer them to Victor. “Curious?”

Victor held up a hand in a stopping motion.

“I’ll bend them.”

“I’ll bend them back. Trust me, they can take a little rough handling.” Chris winked, Victor provoked into a snort of amusement and shake of his head. 

“Fine.” He opened his hand, Chris delicately placing his glasses in Victor’s palm. Manipulating the long, thin bars of the temples open, he leaned in slightly toward Yuuri. Not enough to touch shoulders, but enough to imply his conspiratory stage whisper was meant for the two of them—with Chris to overhear. “How do you put these on, again?”

Yuuri gave him a dry look, tapping a finger on the bridge of his glasses. He hadn’t quite expected Victor to be so… relaxed. Playful, but not as flirtatious as reputation pegged him. “Same way you wear your sunglasses.”

He gave a slow nod, lips twitching up briefly at the corners of his mouth. “I see.” He put Chris’s glasses on with exaggerated care, brow furrowing as he blinked rapidly upon looking out through the lenses at his companions in the cab. “Or I don’t see anything at all. Wow!”

Chris laughed, pulling out his phone and winking at them both. “I’m sure you’re a sight for sore eyes, Victor. Photo?”

“Or a sight making sore eyes, this is nauseating.” A mild statement, but Victor held himself still. “Yuuri, do you mind? I need at least one person who looks good in glasses in this shot with me to make up for how I’m going to look like I stole Harry Potter’s glasses as part of the extended Malfoy family.”

Yuuri lifted his eyebrows, starting to shake his head. Then he hesitated, narrowing his eyes a fraction. There was more than one way to say no, and more than one benefit in being audacious, once in a while. Also several _non-_ benefits, but he tried to speak faster than those thoughts could coalesce into a force powerful enough to render him silent. “If you’ll lend your eyes for critiquing my quad salchow later, sure.”

For a beat of his heart, for several beats of his heart, it was silent in the cab. He was just about to scramble for an apology when Chris started laughing, Victor’s surprised expression turning into a wry grin. “Okay. It’s a deal.” Victor held out his hand as if to shake on it; Yuuri felt himself starting to warm in embarrassment as his breathing went shallow, accepting Victor’s hand. It was a firm handshake, Yuuri mustering that much as a different sort of anticipation sung through his veins: he was being bold tonight, unaccountably so, but it _hadn’t_ blown up in his face.

Yet.

There was time for that to happen later, but for now there was Victor leaning in, Chris calling for their attention with his phone at ready, and Yuuri’s somewhat confused smile. The photograph, when shown to him as Victor politely removed Chris’s glasses and swore off ever repeating that charade again for the sake of his head and stomach, wasn’t bad. Yuuri certainly didn’t save it. Whatever jesting Victor had indulged in was only that. It was Victor, of course it was Victor, who made the photograph memorable. Yuuri smiled before he realised he was smiling, seeing Victor in Chris’s round frames.

“It kind of suits you,” he said, “Though I’d have to see you in wizard robes to judge how much you look like you’re part of the Harry Potter series.”

Chris started laughing again, putting his glasses back on and batting his eyes at Yuuri. “What if I put on my robe and wizard hat?”

Yuuri’s eyebrows climbed upward, staring at Chris. Victor coughed into his hand, sounding suspiciously close to laughter. “Why do you even _have_ a robe or wizard hat?” 

“For private magic shows, of course.” Chris winked, reiterating he was speaking in double entendres; Yuuri folded his hands in his lap and responded deadpan.

“Of course.” He was thankful when Victor cut in, redirecting conversation toward avenues that were more neutral.

Up until they were stepping out of the cab in front of their hotel, Victor holding the door as Yuuri and Chris scooted out. “Do you film your jumps?”

Yuuri looked back to Chris, inexplicably expecting he was who Victor was addressing. 

“Yuuri, do you usually film your practice sessions?”

He whipped his head back around to stare at Victor, mute. He cleared his throat, gave Victor a nod, and shuffled to the side. “Not always, but when _Celestino-sensei_ is working on something with me that I need to see…”

Victor gave a nod of his head, closing the cab door. “Like your quad salchow.”

Plus his quad toe, considering he still didn’t have the consistency he wanted there: he wasn’t landing it every time. About the only thing he did manage consistently was his triple axel. That wasn’t enough, as this last season had shown, to keep him competing on a level to be any real challenge for Victor. Or Chris. He nodded, those thoughts foremost in his mind. 

“Okay, send me a few of those videos in the next two weeks or so. I can’t promise I’ll have a fast turn around, it depends on how busy my schedule ends up being postseason, but I’ll get back to you.”

“It’s fine, you really don’t have to do anything like that!” He had his hands up, as if to ward off the possibility now that it was coming to fruition, even when he wanted it just as badly. He didn’t need Victor examining when he failed. He wanted to show him his _best_.

_Not that I’ve managed to do anything like that so far_ , he acknowledged, hands dropping down as Victor simply smiled.

“You lent me your eyes,” he said, winking, “So I’ll lend you mine.”

In the end, there wasn’t much he could say to that, or to the groan he made when he saw Chris had posted and tagged them all to that ridiculous photo on Twitter. They’d parted ways in the lobby, Yuuri begging off for needing an early night, which wasn’t entirely untrue. He needed the time to unwind and untangle the knots of himself he’d been making all evening in order to be ready for the gala the next day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri meets his new roommate and rinkmate Phichit, and helps him smuggle in three furry new friends.

Chris looked disgustingly well rested at warm-up and rehearsal the next morning, to Yuuri’s lament. In spite of his better intentions he hadn’t slept more than two consecutive hours at a time. His only consolation was it’d actually be _more_ in character for his skate, if he opted against using makeup to disguise the depth of his pointlessly restless night. Victor looked perfect, hair in place, eyes bright, expression set as he hit the ice after stretching off-ice with the rest of them. Yuuri kept to the outer edges as he watched Victor across the rink setting himself up for a jump—executing a flawless quad salchow.

Of course. His little gasp at the whole turned into a firming of his own lips, drawing his focus back onto himself as he warmed up. No one else would be watching him, not among this level of skating capability, not when it was everyone getting ready for the brief end of gala presentation rehearsal. Plus the beginning…

The morning flew past between directions on ice and being directed off the ice, Celestino handing him water and snacks to keep his energy levels up. He decided against the makeup for under his eyes to avoid smearing it across his sunglasses. Yuuri settled into a light jog up and down one of the back halls before Celestino let him know it was time to pull on his boots and warm them up, the opening skate about to start. Falling into his place in the lineup, he rolled his shoulders, adjusted his sunglasses, and laughed a little at the comment from the ladies skater behind him.

“Neo, right?” she asked as music played over everything, cheers from the crowd a highlight from the shadowed stands. 

“Trinity, actually,” he said, and she grinned.

“Even better.”

He both did and didn’t agree, but it fit better those days than Neo. Knowing the future he was striving for, the oracle speaking to him when he first saw Victor, without the proclamations of a human love. But the love of the ice? Being fated for that, to want to strive until he was good enough to truly share the ice with the artistry and beauty encapsulated in the reigning World Champion?

He was closer than he’d ever been before, but he’d work harder, do the one thing only he could do until closer wasn’t close: until he’d earned his way here, to a podium, to where he _knew_ he was giving his best.

He glided across the ice to music out of the nostalgia of his childhood, throwing himself into rapid step sequences and leaps and spins and promised himself he’d work all that much harder. He had a dream to achieve.

A dream he refused to give up.

* * *

He shouldn’t have been surprised when he was invited to take part in an ice show being run by one of his largest sponsors. He wasn’t headlining, but he was being paid to be there anyway. The invitation had made more sense to accept than refuse, particularly as it kept a major sponsor happy. 

Yuuri didn’t exactly enjoy the experience when he was distracted and wanting to be focusing on improvement, but there was something to be said for the lack of judges, the shift in perspective when there was a different pressure behind a performance. He didn’t make or set records here. He simply skated, skated well enough to satisfy himself, along with anyone attending. Show up to the photoshoot for the advertising campaign, be on time and on hand for the practicing and the shows, then leave before the end of the tour to get back on his training in Detroit.

He was doing this only with his agent, Celestino back in Detroit prepping for the newest student who’d signed him on. Yuuri didn’t know much more than a name: Phichit Chulanont. Out of Thailand, he’d been promising in Juniors, and was planning on another few years competing in the Juniors circuit before transitioning to Seniors. 

A plan that hadn’t been dissimilar to Yuuri’s two years earlier.

Either way, the details on his end were simple: he had a fellow skater now training directly under Celestino, and he had agreed to taking said skater on as a roommate. In part because it helped offset costs, and in part because he remembered being alone in the United States and figuring things out along the way. He’d had rinkmates to ask, classmates he could have beseeched, but it might have been easier around anyone else who was as foreign to the whole experience as he’d been. 

Or so he thought now, a few years more settled and still as apt to be surprised by unexpected oddities and intricacies of cultural differences he didn’t know or expect to find. 

Before he knew it, he was back in Detroit. His first meeting with Phichit was stilted, Yuuri bowing and offering a half-smile while trying to remember who he needed to get in contact with for notes on the summer lecture he’d picked up, hoping to get one more class out of the way and closer to a graduation he already knew would be postponed due to his life scheduling. Phichit proved to be more outgoing than Yuuri, unafraid to talk, and unafraid of lapsing into silence. 

Unfortunately, not all silences were equal. The one he lapsed into while they were stretching rinkside later that first day, preparing to finish warming up before heading out on the ice, was portentous.

“What’ve you got in your pockets?” Phichit asked out of nowhere, balancing on one foot to grab his ankle, stretching out his quads.

Yuuri furrowed his brow, trying to remember if he actually had anything in his training coat’s pockets. “Probably my gloves. Why?”

Phichit’s grin was quick and ready, turning into a smile as he laughed. “You never know what you might pull out of there!”

Yuuri’s confused staring didn’t stop. Phichit switched legs as Yuuri did, laughter petering out until he was staring back at Yuuri.

“You know? Like the meme after Worlds?”

Yuuri squinted, slowly shaking his head. “Like what meme.”

His newest rinkmate’s eyes lit up as realisation struck. “You don’t know? You don’t know!” He twisted around to shout toward Celestino. “Ciao Ciao! Yuuri doesn’t _know_!”

Irritation slipped past his confusion, Yuuri straightening out of his calf stretch to plant his hands on his hips and frown at Phichit. “Don’t know what?”

Phichit was unaffected, dropping his hold on his ankle to dart to the side and scoop up his phone. “The meme! After Worlds, it was trending _everywhere_.”

“ _What_ was trending everywhere?” He knew his irritation was in his voice, but it was difficult to keep it out when he felt like he was last to learn something involving himself. Phichit wasn’t bothered, bringing up his phone browser and typing in search terms at blinding speeds. 

“This!” he said, turning his phone around and offering it to Yuuri. Dozens of images on a search engine, the first of which was enlarged enough Yuuri could read the text pasted on in capitals.

“What? The sink’s broken?” he said, squinting at the series of images. One of him standing to the side of the rink, behind the boards. Another of him shoving his hand into his pocket, midway through pulling out the laces he’d had that day. The third and final image was of him holding out the laces to Victor where he sat, only someone had photoshopped in a kitchen sink. “Please, take my spare!”

He’d seen these before. He’d ignored them, catching sight of his face and scrolling past, but reading the whole absurd thing now he wanted to hide his face in his hands and groan at the sheer stupidity of it. “That got turned into a _meme?_ ”

Phichit took his phone back, tapping and scrolling until he brought up another image. “Yep! It’s great, this was the most fun that came out of the whole thing. Do you usually carry laces in your pockets?” He held his phone out once more, Yuuri reluctantly leaving off rubbing his face with gloved hands to look at its screen.

“No, not usually. I was just nervous,” he said, not offering further explanation. This time the same series of images was accompanied by the text, “What? You’re going questing?” with Yuuri holding out a hamster at the end, paired with the text, “Take this! It’s dangerous out there!”

“This is from Zelda,” he muttered, reluctantly fighting against a smile. He wasn’t upset he realised, just bewildered. Enough that he started laughing, shaking his head and groaning. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous and fun!” Phichit said, agreeing even as he smiled down at his phone. “Especially when hamsters are involved. I’ve always wanted to have a few as pets, but haven’t managed it yet.” He glanced over to Yuuri. “What about you?”

“Ah, not hamsters, no. I mean they seem… nice? I have a dog back home.” His expression wistful, he started stretching out his arms. “Vicchan’s a toy poodle. I’ve had him since I was thirteen.”

“Really? Do you have photos? I want to see!”

“Mm, I do…” He looked toward Celestino, still talking with one of the choreographers who worked with the club. Their scheduled time on the ice was still fifteen minutes out or so, and they’d done most of their warm-up stretches. There was time. Yuuri picked up his phone, pulling up his download gallery to show the most recent photo Mari had sent him of Vicchan, drinking water with one foot firmly placed in the bowl. “This is Vicchan,” he said, smiling as the warmth of his love for his dog filled his chest. He might have been a child’s inspiration based on a teenager he idolised, but Vicchan had meant so much more to Yuuri over the years.

“So cute!” Phichit grinned, eyes remaining on the phone screen. “Do you have any more?”

They traded photos and a short video of a hamster shoving carrot after carrot into its cheeks before Celestino waved them out onto the ice. 

* * *

“You really look up to him, don’t you?”

Yuuri looked up from where he’d been taking notes at his desk, one earbud dangling against his chest, the other affixed in an ear. He was still surprised having a roommate after the last two years, though he knew he shouldn’t be. It was stranger that he hadn’t up to that point. “Hmm?”

Phichit waved a hand toward the few posters tacked up on Yuuri’s side of the room, close to the shelves with books and everything else Yuuri shoved on them to get it out of the way. “Victor Nikiforov.” 

_How did he know I was talking with him?_ A brief flash of confusion was followed by understanding when he turned his head, meeting the framed limited edition print of Victor in his short program costume two seasons prior. Yuuri had loved that program, finding that Victor’s costume was a perfect compliment to both the music and mood of the piece.

_Oh._

“Yeah, ever since I was a novice. My friend Yuuko introduced me to him right when he debuted in Seniors.” Slightly after, if he was entirely honest, considering it was during the Grand Prix Final, not before. He’d hunted down videos of those skates later as he’d started his headlong plunge into watching everything he could about Victor Nikiforov.

Phichit nodded, sliding off his bed to come closer, taking it as permission when Yuuri didn’t close himself off. Like he really had a reason; he was studying the video Victor had sent back, finally, after the last clip Yuuri had sent him with his improved attempts at a quad salchow, but he enjoyed being able to talk about his favourite skater currently still on the ice.

His favourite skater even if he was off the ice, for all the thought alone unsettled him. Victor couldn’t retire until Yuuri had finally caught up. Not surpassed, that seemed improbable, but at least reached his solid best.

“When’s this one from?” Phichit said, nodding toward one of the hanging posters.

“Ah, that was an ice show, actually. The poster came with the Russian magazine that had an article on the whole production.” It showed Victor looking up to the side while gliding across the ice under dramatic coloured lighting, as if photographed in a moment where he was replying to someone off camera. He was in costume: it’d been from a rehearsal from what Yuuri remembered.

Phichit made a sound of surprise, but he didn’t say anything. He nodded, resting his hands on his hips, then looked to Yuuri. “Was that why you helped him at Worlds?

He started to answer before stopping himself. “In a way,” Yuuri said, measuring his words as he spoke. He wanted to deny it, but it was partially true. “If I knew someone else needed laces at that precise moment and I happened to have them, I’d hand them over if they were the right kind.” He’d known they were the same as what Victor used. “But I’ve wanted to skate on the same ice as Victor since I was twelve. Missing that chance due to bad luck, and not even _my_ bad luck, felt too unfair. So I guess it was, even if it wasn’t the only reason.”

His roommate nodded again, one hand resting on his hip as he considered what’d been said. “Have you ever seen _The King and the Skater_?”

Such an abrupt change in topic caught him off guard. “No?”

Phichit gasped, eyes going comically large as he spun around to square off with Yuuri. “No?! That’s it! I declare tonight a movie night, and we are watching _The King and the Skater_. If we have time, we’ll even watch the sequel! They’re fantastic, you’re going to love them!”

He didn’t know if he wanted to do a movie night, but it wasn’t a terrible idea, and Phichit looked genuinely excited about the prospect. He glanced back down at his phone, where he’d paused studying his own jump yet again to look for what Celestino and Victor had both indicated needed refining, then smiled.

“Sure, why not? Are we sneaking popcorn too?”

“Can we borrow the lounge to make some on the stovetop?”

“Probably? As long as we clean up, but I don’t have any large pots or deep pans… or popcorn kernels—”

Phichit turned for the door, moving before Yuuri even finished speaking. “I have this. I’ll see what I can find.”

As it turned out, he could find quite a lot, and ended up with a five person viewing party in the shared recreation room. Yuuri found he didn’t even mind.

* * *

He fell into a new rhythm, working on the season’s programs, getting the step sequences choreographed but not completely memorised while trying to find full confidence in his jumps. Phichit was a near constant companion, bright and focused and finding everything he did on the ice _fun_. Celestino had started working with Phichit on a quad toe loop, still keeping Phichit practicing his triples and working on his triple axel more often.

It was like watching himself in a way, though Phichit’s approach to a challenge involved more smiling before he settled into that focus with the hint of a determined grin turning his lips up at the corners. He asked Yuuri to demonstrate his quad toe loop, watching from his position on the ice as Yuuri jumped, again and again, landing perfectly almost half the time.

_Not enough_ , he told himself, while Celestino said, “Almost there,” and Phichit said, “How can you jump that many times in a row? Incredible! I’m tired just watching you.” His smile belied the hyperbole, Phichit still managing to have more energy packed into his frame than Yuuri did even hopped up on caffeine.

Yuuri found out several things about himself leading into that season, some which weren’t even new. He was helpless in following after the trends Victor catered toward: as soon as he’d seen the announcement on Twitter that Victor had downloaded the Instagram app now that it was available for Android phones, Yuuri had followed suit. He knew Phichit already had an account, and as a thin excuse to himself, he added Phichit right after following Victor. Or he tried to, and he really meant to ask, but in the process of figuring out how he could look back through an account’s worth of photos, he ended up accidentally liking one of Phichit practicing back in his home rink.

Phichit, of course, noticed almost immediately.

“Yuuri! You have Instagram?”

In hindsight, an account name of katsuki_y might have been _somewhat_ obvious. He tried willing away the flush of embarrassment warming his cheeks, staring down at his phone and berating the betrayal of his fingers on the touchscreen. “Just now,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. “I got distracted looking through your photos. How long have you been on Instagram?”

“Oh, over a year?” Phichit plopped himself down next to Yuuri, leaning into his space just enough to glimpse what Yuuri was looking at.

Victor’s Instagram page.

Phichit grinned. “You press there to start following someone. This is great! I can finally tag you in the photos we’ve taken together.”

Yuuri was already following Victor, something Phichit had doubtlessly seen, but it was a kindness of a sort. One that meant Phichit stayed at his side, scrolling through his phone and retroactively editing tagged people on a few of his posts. Quietly, Yuuri brought Phichit’s profile up, tapping on the _follow_ icon with impunity. 

Phichit followed him back, held his hand out for Yuuri’s phone, and said, “First post selfie?”

Smiling in his resignation, Yuuri handed over his phone. Say what he would, but Phichit had an eye for selfies Yuuri didn’t even try to match. 

His first posted photograph, using an earlybird filter (funny as he found that, given his natural inclinations versus his learned habits from years of figure skating), was of himself, Phichit, and the bleachers of a rink in the Detroit Skate Club.

It was not, he decided, all that bad.

* * *

Nor did he find his programs developing all that badly leading up to the skating season. He talked inconsistently with Chris and Victor, finding a wry amusement in how they’d all ended up following and followed on three different platforms. Chris and Victor both were increasingly active on Instagram, less so on Twitter. Yuuri didn’t mind. He kept up as a passive viewer, feeling his programs come together, sending Victor a thirteen second clip the first day he landed every one of his quad salchows.

_Thank you!_ He sent that afternoon, smiling and resting his phone on the boards as Celestino worked on Phichit’s step sequences. His surprise at receiving a reply not long after had him calculating time differences, as if he didn’t already know them. Midnight, and Victor was texting him back.

_You’re welcome, Yuuri, but that was all you, not me. I don’t think I said anything your coach didn’t already. Congratulations!_

It was true, but it was also not true enough. Nerve-wracking as it’d been to… he squinted, thoughts interrupted as another text came through.

_Bring your best appetite this season, Yuuri._

Chris had shared that story, then, because by no means had Yuuri ever wanted to. He groaned, then he grimaced, and at last he erased the three different apologies and exclamations he’d written in favour of something slightly more meaningful, infinitely more simple:

_You too._

He looked forward to when he’d next skate with Victor, and with Chris, he realised. _Still_ the top two male skaters in the world, two years running.

He clenched his fists, lifting his eyes to watch Phichit glide across the ice.

He couldn’t wait to set skates on the ice in competition. 

* * *

He waited for the announcement of assignments in the GP series while watching _The King and the Skater_ for the nth time with Phichit. By now he could almost recite lines alongside Phichit, if he was paying attention.

Nerves left his attention fractured, Yuuri staying away from social media. Invitations would be going out to international skaters, but the top six from Worlds would know tonight. 

He checked his phone for the ISU announcement as Arthur stepped out onto the ice with the King, before the card game that’d become even more relevant later in the film. Unlike the last dozen times, this time his eyes caught on an update. He sat up abruptly, turning toward Phichit, phone clutched in his hands. “Announcement!”

Not eloquent, but Phichit understood, putting the movie on pause on his laptop and setting it to the side with an excited glint in his eyes. “Where are you assigned?” Glancing toward the posters on Yuuri’s side of the room, he added, “Where’s Victor been assigned?”

Yuuri was already loading the full PDF announcement, scanning down and reading the names he found listed there. “I’m assigned to Skate Canada,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he continued reading. “Along with Chris. Victor’s skating in the Rostelecom Cup, that’s not a surprise…” He trailed off with a small, frustrated noise. “His second event’s Trophée Éric Bompard.” 

“What’s yours?”

“The NHK Trophy.”

Phichit made a noise of understanding. Yuuri frowned, closing his eyes as he rallied his thoughts. There was disappointment alongside a certain relief, and a sense of guilt attached to both. Determination wound through all the rest, giving him a sense of purpose when he looked up, catching Phichit looking at him with a vaguely sympathetic look. Phichit was still too excited to look entirely sympathetic: Yuuri was seeded in _two_ of the Grand Prix Series. He was excited on Yuuri’s behalf.

Yuuri knew being seeded was a testimony to the work he’d put in last year, but part of him still saw it as a mixture of luck due to his own dissatisfaction with the level of his performance. Now he wasn’t going to even get a chance to skate with Victor if he didn’t manage to make it to the Grand Prix Final. Aiming for _Worlds_ again beyond that felt ambitious, but he knew that was exactly what he was going to do.

“Looks like I’m going to need to hold Chris off from gold and make sure I’m in the Grand Prix Final if I want to share the ice with Victor again.”

Phichit tipped his head to the side, affecting a thoughtful pose. “This sounds true. Do you know what else sounds true?”

Distracted and seeing a notification on his phone from Chris, Yuuri shook his head. 

“We still have another half hour left in _The King and the Skater._ ”

Yuuri looked up to see Phichit’s tease of a smile and found himself smiling in return. He’d find it sillier if he didn’t see how clearly Phichit cared about the film; and how it was, just maybe, a means of distracting him, too.

“You’re right,” he said, leaving Chris for later, leaving the tangle of pressure he felt for his own desires in achievements for the morning as he set his phone face-down on his bed, pulling his knee back up toward his chest. “Arthur had just convinced the King to try skating?”

Phichit settled down again, placing his laptop back between them. “Toward the end of the song,” he agreed, pressing his spacebar. “Right before my favourite part!”

He rallied his focus, breathing out through his nose in a quiet snort. “You say that about every scene.”

“Yes! Every scene is my favourite part.” Phichit didn’t even miss a beat, Yuuri breathing out in a huff of amusement as Arthur and the King continued to spin across the ice, serenading each other for love of a sport and, perhaps, loves of other sorts.

* * *

Between classes, practice on and off the ice, and the rigours of taking the parts of his programs and weaving them into a coherent, compelling whole, Yuuri barely had time to breathe as the summer melted past. He wasn’t as startled by the difference in humidity between Detroit and Hasetsu anymore. Phichit used the humidity as an excuse one day to lead Yuuri and a group of fellow senior level skaters on an impromptu hunt for a new shaved ice store that’d opened up a few weeks earlier. It was a perfect, amusing plan for a bunch of figure skaters to get off the ice just to traipse off through the summer heat in hunt of _more_ ice, only the edible kind.

Phichit and Yuuri glanced at each other once the simplicity of United States snowcones made itself known: without condensed milk or any toppings, just finely crushed ice with syrup poured over the top. 

“When you heard shaved ice, is this what you were thinking?” Phichit kept his voice low, leaning into Yuuri’s space.

Yuuri snorted, turning it into a cough he hid behind his hand. “It’s not so far off from what I expected,” he admitted, “Though I’d thought a place dedicated to it would have also offered it sweetened. Maybe even with toppings?”

Phichit laughed, leaning away again and scanning the wall of syrup flavours, nose wrinkled. “Where are the toppings? There’s so many flavours, but nothing else to go on top!” He shook his head, pulling out his phone and shuffling to the side to take a selfie with the syrup bottles visible behind him. Phichit pulled a look of contemplative confusion, indicating over his shoulder. It took three tries for him to achieve a photo he liked, immediately tagging it and uploading it while he fell back in line with Yuuri.

“Which flavour are you going to try?”

Yuuri scanned the overwhelming variety, narrowing his eyes in consideration. He didn’t know when his encounters with flavourings in Detroit had been less than satisfying: either too sweet, or too _strange_ when it tasted like nothing close to what it said. “Maybe the strawberry?” He’d prefer melon, but the only melon he saw was watermelon, not what he had in mind. “Or the blue Hawaiian.”

“What does that even mean?”

“That it’s blue,” Yuuri said, deadpan. “And tastes Hawaiian.”

With a laugh, Phichit nudged Yuuri’s side. “So like sand and sunshine and salt?”

“Coconut, I think. Plus a blend of fruit juices. Pineapple, some other stuff.” If it was anything like what he personally knew.

“Huh.” Phichit scanned the wall again, then grinned, lips closed. “I’ll go for the Tiger’s Blood. Sounds mysterious and exciting.”

Mysterious, exciting, and red, Yuuri determined, just as his own was a rather electric blue. Phichit insisted on another photo for uploading, Yuuri figuring why not? He focused his camera, getting both his blue monstrosity and Phichit’s red horror into the frame. Commenting with the insightful, “Meet the Snowcones,” and tagged with #thesnowconeexperience. (Given it was the store’s name he was only a little surprised to find it already had a dozen tags. One, of course, was Phichit.)

“Thoughts?” he said, three bites in with his tongue already starting to dye blue.

“Tastes red. Sweet, but soothing.” Phichit held up his spoon and fluttered his eyelashes. “This might be worth trying again someday when I want to pretend I’m an animal vampire.” He smiled, lips starting to redden with the dye, tongue already a lost cause.

For better or worse, each skater ended up dyed to match their snowcone dessert, leaving a walking rainbow of tongues and lips when they stepped back into the summer’s heat. 

“Blue’s a good colour on you.” Phichit managed to keep a straight face but for the way his eyes laughed along with him.

Yuuri’s lips quirked up into a small grin. “Red suits you. How long do you think this is going to last?”

Phichit tapped his chin, lifting his eyes skyward. “Through the night? It shouldn’t last longer than… Yuuri.”

Yuuri stopped with Phichit, startled by the sudden change in his roommate’s tone of voice. Phichit’s eyes widened, staring off to the side. Yuuri looked in the same direction with his heartrate picking up. Something must have been wrong, but what? All he could see were a few pedestrians on the sidewalk, a number of storefronts with lit signs proclaiming them open in the summer afternoon, and their rinkmates wandering on ahead.

“Phichit?” He swallowed, licking his partially blue lips. “Is something wrong?”

Phichit had his hands clasped, pressed against his chest. “Yuuri, there is something right. There’s a _pet store._ ”

His blank stare spurred Phichit into a low whine as he shifted from foot to foot, glancing between Yuuri and the pet store sign. “Please? Please can we go in there. They might have hamsters! Soft furry animals to pet!”

Another rinkmate, Mared Trevor, looked back in their direction.

“Phichit? I think the snowcone place has a restroom for customers if you needed it.”

Yuuri started to laugh, Phichit whining louder as Yuuri waved his hands in front of him to dismiss Mared’s suggestion. “It’s not that,” he said, only to be interrupted by Phichit with a loud exclamation of, “Mared, it’s a _pet store!_ ”

She lit up in sudden understanding, waving a hand toward her friend. “Adena, _Adena!_ Bunnies! I want to pet a bunny!”

Phichit bounced forward on the balls of his feet, taking Mared’s enthusiasm as permission to stride right on over to the store. He slipped inside before Yuuri had even managed to get moving. Shaking his head, Yuuri fell in with the skaters who beelined inside, holding the door open with its attached bell chiming on their entrance.

There were two kittens near the counter, in a large, black wire cage with a sign attached advertising that they were spayed and neutered, available for adoption through a partnership with a local feline rescue group. Phichit wasn’t there, though half the skaters stopped to coo and see if they could entice the kittens into playing with their fingers. Yuuri lifted his eyebrows, glancing around, trying to figure out where his roommate had gone.

The aisles were labeled with hanging signs. CAT and DOG and SMALL ANIMALS and REPTILES and FISH all proclaimed in bold letters on colourful backings. Turning into the center aisle, Yuuri started back toward where SMALL ANIMALS ruled, pulling up short as he almost ran into a tortoise the size of his head. Standing in the middle of the aisle with a camera strapped to its back, the tortoise lifted its head and looked up at Yuuri with unreadable black eyes.

He felt like he’d just interrupted someone unspeakably busy with their own thoughts, going for a small bow and automatic apology before he edged around the side of the tortoise. Phichit called out from down the aisle, barely visible past the endcap.

“Did you bow to a turtle?”

“I was being polite.”

Phichit considered it for a moment, shrugging and breaking into another grin. He gestured for Yuuri to come closer, eyes bright. “They’re perfect, Yuuri, look.” 

When he caught up with him, Yuuri saw what Phichit meant. A series of glass-fronted cages showed hamsters nestled down in bedding, patches of fur visible pressed up against the glass. The label under the cage listed names, species, and cost; Phichit was standing in front of one of the dwarf hamster cages.

“Look at them,” he said again, voice softening. He reached out to gently press the tip of a finger against the glass, like he could feel the fur of the cuddled pile of sleeping hamsters. “They’re all sisters. They get along so well, and their fur! Beautiful colours!”

Yuuri nodded absently, wondering how Phichit could tell where one ended and the next hamster began. They were cute all in a pile. Reading the tag more closely, he saw these were all female; the males were in the next cage over. “Friendly, too, if we’re believing what the sign says.”

Phichit made a small noise of distress as the hamster pile shifted, one hamster poking her head out of the fur-pile to sniff at the air and yawn. Phichit cooed; Yuuri wondered at the damage those tiny, sharp looking teeth might manage on the unwary. Or on cords.

“I have an idea.”

Yuuri glanced at Phichit, lifting his eyebrows. His sinking feeling about what Phichit meant left him reluctant to speak. “What kind of idea?”

“The brilliant, spy-action movie worthy kind.” He took a step back, looking over his shoulder toward where a variety of rodent cages, toys, food, and chews were arranged on the endcaps and shelves at the end of the aisle. “The kind that says I’ve been saving up for a reason.”

Turning to face Yuuri head on, Phichit made his announcement. “I’m getting these hamsters.”

Yuuri sighed internally, offering up a wry smile to his roommate. To his friend, really. “You’re not asking, you’re telling.”

Phichit’s answering smile was self-aware but not apologetic. Yuuri slowly raised his hands, palms out, at shoulder level. “As long as they don’t keep me up when I’m trying to sleep, and their cage doesn’t start to smell…”

Phichit’s smile turned into a determined grin, resting his hands on his hips as he looked back to the hamster cage. “Oh, they won’t. I’ll grease their wheel.”

Yuuri would find out what that meant in the days following, but in that moment, he merely closed his eyes and gave into the inevitability. “You also have a plan for how we’re getting everything back to our room?”

Phichit’s grin turned devilish, a hand coming up to take hold of his chin. His eyes slid toward the sound of voices belonging to their rinkmates. “Have I told you that I’m a believer in Ciao Ciao’s buddy system?”

An hour later, seven figure skaters managed to sneak three hamsters, a large cage, food, treats, toys, and an inexplicable (to Yuuri) cardboard tube filled with stuffing into their room. Yuuri had one of the hamsters in his pocket, hand gently cradling the small, furry body as he kept his face neutral. Each squirm and experimental nibble had his eye twitching, though when Phichit glanced back his way, he only lifted an eyebrow and said, “You look like you’re about to hit the ice.”

“Phichit,” he said, almost hissing it out of the side of his mouth, “I think she just peed on me.”

Phichit’s lips quirked up at the corners. He reached out with the hand not currently cradling a hamster in his own pocket, patting Yuuri’s shoulder. “Congratulations,” he said. “You’re an uncle now.”

He groaned, starting to laugh in spite of himself. “Why is it always triplets?”

“Because the best things come in threes?”

“Something like that,” he said, trying to ignore the cooling fluid on his hand. “Now can we please get these girls into their new home?! I need to wash my hands. And my jacket. I need to shower, _now_.”

Phichit’s laughter echoed in his ears long after he’d slipped back into the hall in his shower sandals and robe, heading for the showers just as he’d promised.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri is once again on course for making it to Worlds. His feelings toward Victor might be changing... though he doesn't really want to think about it.

The season started almost before he realised. Travel plans, hotel reservations, planned meals and a note on what meal vouchers were most likely, stops by stores for protein packed snacks and mournful glances at menus wishing for a taste of home. Then it was taxis and airplanes and buses, reviewing schedules and checking in at hotels and with competition officials. It was checking his passes, conversations with Celestino, a text to Phichit, a message to Chris. A well-wishing from Victor, a brief conversation with Mari. Hard for him to focus on any of that, from the fluttering in his stomach at Victor’s simple phrase, to the pull of his lips into a smile when Mari regaled him with her particular deadpan humour, reciting the tale of Vicchan’s run through a neighbour’s garden. 

He didn’t know if he really stopped to breathe until the morning before his short program, having avoided doing more than setting out on morning jogs, keeping close to the hotel. He’d pushed Chris off until that night, needing time to get in his own headspace. Feeling better about it before quite suddenly feeling worse.

He didn’t find peace, not exactly. He found a measure of the determination his season was framed around, the theme he’d had to announce months before on Japanese television. Now he was stretching with his hands pressed against the wall, using his nervous energy as best he could to push himself into better inward focus. Music played through his headphones; symphonic orchestras, but nothing he was skating to.

He just wanted the escape. It was even working, Yuuri feeling loose and warmed up, pushing away from the wall and tracking back toward Celestino and his water.

The hand that found his midback, pressing in and sliding against the material of his jacket down over the curve of his rear with a _squeeze_ had him squeaking and freezing while Chris’s voice curled over his shoulder by his ear.

“Feels like you’ve had a very _productive_ off-season. How are your pants fitting these days?” Switching off to resting his folded arm on Yuuri’s shoulder, Chris looked at him sideways.

“Chris!” Yuuri heard the rise in his voice, cheeks colouring in embarrassment over how Chris had chosen to greet him. “Given the material these are made out of, skin-tight. How are yours?”

Chris laughed, leaning his weight on Yuuri as his head dropped down low. Glancing up through his lashes, eyes sparkling with amusement and mischief, he smiled. “Close-fitting and a sinful compliment to my arse.”

“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.” Yuuri’s deadpan comment earned another chuckle from Chris and the freedom of his shoulder. He was being honest. He couldn’t have looked even if he’d been inclined to at that moment.

“You’ll get used to the sight of it when you’re coming in second behind me.” He winked, Yuuri giving him another dry look as _innuendo_ was what he expected from Chris by now, and he hadn’t missed the implications. 

For once it allowed him to not make it _worse_.“Who said anything about aiming for second place?”

“Yuuri, aiming for third’s just depressing,” Chris said, shaking his head as he started to move away. He’d skate after Yuuri, and had time to limber up and work through the pressure when he’d be on the ice. With the monitors in the back it was easy enough to watch what was happening without being at the boards.

He moved forward, keeping stride with Chris. “I aim for the top, Chris, like everyone else.”

Chris’s grin was delivered with yet another wink. “Oh no, my dear friend, there are some who _far_ prefer aiming for the bottom… off the ice.” He waved as he turned into the side-room with monitors, press, and event staff inside. Yuuri paused, thrown off for a moment, breathing out in a sigh as realisation caught up. Chris was incorrigible, but much the same, he nudged at boundaries. He didn’t cross them.

For the most part.

“I’m interested in what people bring _on_ the ice.”

“One day,” Chris said with a playful sigh and tip of his head to the side, “You’ll be interested in what people bring _off_ the ice too. Until then, Yuuri...” Chris lightly slapped his own upper thigh, blowing Yuuri an exaggerated kiss. “Admire this while you can!”

Yuri ducked away from the blown kiss, dodging with a grin and heading up the carpeted expanse through the entrance to the rink. “Same to you, Chris!”

* * *

“I think this is the only time I’ve stood taller than you when we’re both in skates,” he said what felt like hours later, standing under the spotlights focused on the podium at Skate Canada. The bronze medalist was making his lap toward center rink, bowing in gratitude and acknowledgement to the enthusiastic crowds.

Chris chuckled, turning his head to look at Yuuri as he leaned a little back. His eyes flicked down, his gaze dragging up over Yuuri, purposefully exaggerated. 

“Ah, so it must be the height difference making me appreciate the view.” He quirked a grin and winked, expression settling into a challenging one as the bronze medalist came back their way. “We’ll be switching come the Grand Prix Final.”

Words that turned out not to be as prophetic as Yuuri thought they were right then.

* * *

His second year qualifying for the Grand Prix Final was even more surreal, especially after he only managed a bronze at the NHK Trophy. He felt like a failure coming in, despite logically knowing otherwise; he had something more to prove.

He also had two waiting text messages from Victor, asking if he was currently busy and if he was, in fact, aware that the hotel had an almost-rooftop pool and spa. His replies had been short, a repetition of _no_ and _no_ , regretting the first almost right after sending it. He was jetlagged, hungry after an unsatisfying meal of a protein bar and an airplane salad, and frankly half wanted to pour over the room service menu to see if anything would manage to stir his appetite before he’d crash and see about being alive and awake the next morning to head out to his block of practice time.

_Great! Will you be our photographer?_

In a way he was reminded of Phichit. He blamed his fondness for his roommate for why he capitulated with a _yes_ after asking how long it was supposed to take. He still felt more nervous than at ease around Victor, not yet convinced he was at a level where he _could_ feel at ease around his life-long idol. Knowing what little insights he’d been gaining into Victor-the-person over Victor-the-media-icon-and-my-childhood-idol made Victor less ethereal, but it didn’t set Yuuri at ease.

Nor was he at ease when he dragged his frumpy, travel weary self to the nteenth floor, trekking out into the chill of a winter night and finding Chris hauling himself out of the pool with water cascading off him, Victor sitting on a pool chair with a towel draped around his shoulders, snapping photographs with Chris’s phone as the younger skater shot him what probably was a seductive look. Yuuri only saw the back of Chris’s head, and Victor’s eyes trained on the phone; he also saw neither man seemed to believe in more than minimal bathing suits.

Bodies weren’t alien to Yuuri, especially not the male body. Between growing up in an onsen and being part of a sport that had little concept of physical privacy (if physicals, testing, and changing rooms had anything to say for it in the end), nudity and near nudity were commonplace in their own contexts. So it made no sense whatsoever that after a glance at Chris, water glistening off the muscles of his shoulders and back, he looked toward Victor, with his long legs loosely crossed and water slowly rolling in beads down his sternum and the bare expanse of his stomach, and blushed. There was no other word for it—his cheeks burned with a sudden warmth that spread across the back of his neck too.

He was midway through turning around and leaving when Victor called out his name.

“Yuuri! Good! You’re here!”

He didn’t want to be here. Or he did want to be here, but unnoticed, so he could slip away again and sit down and remind himself why blushing was an unnecessary part of his life as a mature, adult male past his majority. Really!

He turned around, reluctantly lifting his eyes from their study of the cement floor to wave at Victor, a weak smile on his lips. Victor was flushed, likely from the cold, bouncing forward onto the balls of his feet as he trekked past Chris toward Yuuri.

Chris, waving after turning to sit on the side of the pool, kicked his feet idly in the water.

Victor’s smile dimmed, eyes taking in Yuuri’s expression. “Are you feeling okay?” He frowned. “You’re looking flushed.”

 _Flushed_ he could live with. He nodded his head, waving his hands in a dismissal at the same time. “I’m fine! It’s more cold out here than inside, and it’s been a long travel day…”

“You don’t need to indulge us if you’re feeling tired. Chris just enjoys taking dramatic photos. We can catch up with you tomorrow?” 

The questioning tone of Victor’s voice undid him. “No, it’s fine!” He scrambled for words, waving his hands in denial once again. “I’ll adjust, Detroit’s cold this time of year, even Hasetsu is cold, I’m good! Wonderful! What about you? Aren’t _you_ cold?”

Victor glanced down at himself, quirking a smile. “I am, yes. I’ll probably start whining before too much longer, but it felt nice.” He didn’t explain what _it_ was in particular; Yuuri assumed getting to swim. 

Yuuri blinked, lifting his eyebrows. “You’re admitting that’s what you plan to do?”

Victor shrugged, turning around and nodding for Yuuri to come along with him. “I’m honest. I don’t happen to _enjoy_ being cold, most the time.”

Chris heard the tail end of Victor’s comment, flashing a lazy smile and calling out, “He’s not big on temperature play, until he is.”

“When I’m asked nicely, there’s not much I won’t try once,” Victor said, not missing a beat. “Are you asking nicely?”

Chris shrugged his shoulders, still kicking his feet in the water. “Do I ever ask meanly?”

“You used to ask cutely.” Victor sat himself at Chris’s side, dipping his feet back into the pool. Yuuri considered wandering off while the two of them seemed to be involved in conversing with each other, which was when Chris perked up and squinted in Yuuri’s direction.

“Yuuri!” He held up his phone, waggling it back and forth. “Make sure to capture my good side!”

Taking the phone and feeling a bit like he was taking his own life into his hands, he quirked his eyebrows. Chris squinted less when Yuuri was at this distance; a feeling Yuuri sympathised with. “Which side would that be?”

“Any,” Chris said, “But _especially_ my back side.” 

“Or his front side, or his left side, maybe even his right side—”

Chris nonchalantly lifted his foot in an upward kick, showering Victor in water droplets and sending Yuuri scurrying backward to avoid the spray. His pout had Victor laughing, one arm tossed up over his head and in front of his face to try and hold off the sudden splash of water.

“Just because it’s the side you never see!”

“If you want to demonstrate, I’m happy to support you by sitting here and making the right sounds of appreciation. Yuuri, you’ll help too, won’t you?”

Holding up Chris’s phone and keeping his expression neutral, less out of intent and more out of sheer inability to decide what else to do, he said, “No comment. Ready?”

Chris was still pouting, turning it into a sexy pout for the sake of the camera when Victor leaned in and held up his fingers in a v-sign. Yuuri took three shots before shuffling closer, on the lookout for any chance Chris might try to splash him. Unlikely as it felt, his life had been surprising enough to warrant a measure of potential caution.

Unwarranted, as it turned out: at least for splashing. Chris accepted his phone and blew Yuuri a kiss, tapping over to the gallery and humming appreciation as he set about uploading one of the three. Victor leaned over to watch the start of the process, moving to get up once Chris started considering different filter options.

“ _Zhzh_! I’m ready to warm up. How does tea sound to you?”

“Tolerable,” Yuuri said, flushing all over again when Victor blinked and laughed.

“If we’re lucky,” he agreed. They stood for a moment, looking at each other, Yuuri wondering if there was anything he should say. Before he’d reached a decision, Victor turned away, an odd smile on his lips. It was swift to change to a grin as he called back to Chris. Yuuri didn’t hear what he said, hands shoved in his thin coat pockets. He considered begging off; he was tired, and he knew both Chris and Victor would understand.

He was still considering it after trailing Victor back to his room, watching his semi-theatric shivers in the lift. “I can’t stay for long,” he said, Victor humming acknowledgement while Chris looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“You’re the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, hm?”

“What? No! I would never, I don’t—” he said, protesting, interrupting himself as Chris laughed and they all headed for the doors leading back into the reasonable temperature of the hotel proper.

He reflected on the surreality of it all sitting on the oversized chair in Victor’s room while Victor and Chris sat companionably on the single bed. It seemed ridiculous he couldn’t remember much of what they talked about, not when he was sharing space with _Victor_ , but exhaustion turned everything into a background hum as he held his mug of tea, finger rolling over the thread leading down to the tea bag floating by the water’s surface. It didn’t smell like home, but it smelled warm and familiar, and bagged tea here was no worse than bagged tea from a cafe in Detroit.

He drank. He zoned out. He found himself with a hand waving in front of his face, followed by a _face_ , and Yuuri jerked himself back in surprise, cooled tea sloshing over the lip of his mug. Victor looked as surprised as Yuuri was, turning around to grab for the complimentary hand towel set out by the electric kettle.

“That’s definitely a call for heading to bed. Here,” Victor said, offering Yuuri the towel, trying to take his tea in exchange. “I don’t think peppermint stains, but if you want to use the sink?”

He wanted to crawl into the closet and _die_ , patting at the spill of tea over his legs and wondering why in any world Victor’s offering for Yuuri to use the bathroom to _clean his pants_ , but torn between his own mortification and the ridiculousness of the situation, he gave a weak laugh.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I should just head out.”

“Same here. I’ll see him to the lift, Victor, you have a good night. See you at the first practice session tomorrow.” Chris was on his feet already, lips curved up on the right. He looked tired.

Yuuri pushed up to his feet and handed the used hand towel back to Victor, offering an awkward smile. “Thanks for the tea.”

Victor blinked, snorting and shaking his head. He smiled in return, subdued and amused. “Sorry for making you wear it. I don’t think we’re in the same practice slots. See you tomorrow night?” 

“If you want?” Yuuri didn’t mean to make it a question, swallowing and heading for the door. “Celestino normally doesn’t need me, so… if you want, I guess.”

He couldn’t decipher the look Chris gave him as Yuuri walked past, though he heard Chris follow along. Victor brought up the tail end, reaching past Yuuri’s shoulder to hold the door open for them all to safely exit again.

“Great! I’ll check in with you after everyone’s short program’s are over. Good luck.” He winked.

Chris snorted. “What, no good luck wish for me?”

VIctor fluttered his eyelashes, leaning against the door. “Chris,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Good luck.”

Yuuri felt his stomach clench, back of his neck heating while Chris laughed, fluttering his eyelashes at Victor in turn. It was strange to witness up close like this, the easy back and forth of a flirtation that didn’t seem to go anywhere between two friends. Yuuri wondered if it had always been that way, or if this was just seeing where it might go, one day. It made sense. Victor’s personal life was never that visible in the news, though it was hotly debated in figure skating fandom. 

It was none of Yuuri’s business. Just like Chris’s love life wasn’t; though he had never been particularly concerned about anyone’s love life. Victor’s apparent lack there-of just added to his public perception as one of the most eligible, successful singletons in the sport. It was impossible for Yuuri _not_ to know that.

Chris caught up with him, winding an arm around his waist to bump his hip against Yuuri’s. “Leaving so fast? I’m hurt, Yuuri. What floor is your room on?”

Chris stepped away again as they reached the lifts, Yuuri unhunching his shoulders. Chris never felt threatening, but Yuuri was on edge and embarrassed and for once he wasn’t even entirely sure _why_. He sounded sharper than he intended when he spoke. “Not this one.” 

Chris’s turn of his head and the cluck of his tongue, “Grumpy, grumpy.” He pressed the call button for the lower floors, Yuuri opting to turn around and watch the lifts on the opposing side.

When the lift dinged on arrival, he had to turn around again to see Chris standing with his hand politely preventing the doors from sliding closed.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said as he slipped into the lift, looking for the panel to select his floor. One button was already lit up. Yuuri selected one to its right, sighing as the doors finally closed.

“You know we’re both terrible flirts. I have a feeling Victor finds it amusing.” Chris snorted, studying the elevator doors. “Considering how he likes to remind me of how pure and sweet I was when we first met.”

Yuuri made a noise of acknowledgement, figuring he wasn’t being asked to comment. Why was Chris telling him any of this? The question became even more confusing as Chris went on.

“Just thought you might like to know.” Chris smiled, blowing Yuuri a kiss as the lift slowed to a stop, doors sliding open. “Goodnight, Yuuri. Make sure to watch my short program in addition to his!”

“In addition to—wait, Chris!” Yet the doors were already closing and Chris was gone, a chuckle trailing behind him.

Yuuri shook his head, riding the two floors down to where his room was located. He had no idea what that was about, between the announcement of Chris and Victor being flirts (yes, Yuuri had indeed noticed) and the entreaty to watch Chris’s skate. Of course he was going to, even if he shouldn’t always. He could and has ramped up his anxiety doing exactly that, but he would hold himself together and let the breakdown come after the fact, if one was coming at all. It was cathartic after a fashion.

Still shaking his head, Yuuri walked the maze of hallways to his hotel room door, let himself in, barely managed to get through brushing his teeth before he passed out, alarm set on his phone.

* * *

As he sat in the kiss and cry waiting for his scores to be announced, Yuuri barely registered what Celestino was saying at his side. The warmth and presence of his coach was a balm of sorts, keeping Yuuri from hunching his shoulders too badly as he stared up at the giant screens hanging over the middle of the ice rink. Watching himself wasn’t his favourite activity, most the time lending toward examining where he needed to improve and what was working, but without his glasses the giant moving blur and the significantly different music playing over the speakers lent a certain distance.

He realised they’d cut back to the cameraperson trained on both him and Celestino when the screen’s image changed, Yuuri blinking and straightening up to smile awkwardly and wave at the camera. There were cheers and applause, or at least a smattering of it; frankly he figured it was for the competitor currently warming up on the ice. 

He couldn’t read the numbers when they were shown on screen. Only as Celestino crushed him in a hug did Yuuri realise what the announcer confirmed a moment later. _Yuuri Katsuki is currently in first place_.

He wouldn’t hold it for long, with both Chris and Victor still waiting to take the ice, but for now, he didn’t feel a complete failure. 

* * *

When he and several other skaters and a coach or two headed out for dinner, he was even in a moderately good mood, thinking forward to the kind of performance he wanted to give in the free skate the next day.

“So did you watch me?” Chris asked, jostling Yuuri’s shoulder as he slid into the booth next to him. 

Yuuri lowered his menu, lifting his eyebrows in response to Chris’s half grin. “You were on a skater after me. Of course I did.”

Chris’s grin grew, leaning back and kicking his legs out under the table. Victor had ended up shoved into the opposite side of the round booth table, more or less. He shifted to accommodate the leg-room wars being waged beneath the table, meeting Chris’s grin with a quirk of his eyebrows.

“Chris?”

“Your Knight in Shining Laces was commending my superior sexiness on ice.”

Yuuri’s choking noise was half drowned out by the chatter at the table and Victor’s own corresponding laughter. “Oh? How could he not, you’re a sensual skater, Chris.” Victor leaned forward, arms resting on the table. “I don’t know if anyone can compete with you on sheer sexiness alone.”

“Not even you?” Chris grinned; Victor was attractive, that was a simple matter of fact, but the allure he had on ice wasn’t the physical sexuality Chris pulled off without breaking a sweat.

Victor smiled, shaking his head and leaning back. “Not even me.”

“I think you could.” Yuuri picked his menu up again, focusing on the words. Most weren’t actually ones he could read, but there were some few printed in English underneath, which gave him a general idea of the menu. “If you wanted to, I mean.”

“Oh?” Chris rested his chin in the palm of his hand, his own menu ignored on the table. “You want to see sweet, innocent three time gold medalist Victor Nikiforov skate a sexy program on ice?”

Victor snorted, presumably at the sweet and innocent, looking at Yuuri with mild amusement. Yuuri tipped his menu up just that little bit higher.

“I want to see everything Victor skates on ice.” He made it matter of fact, staring even more determinedly at the menu while he flushed. “I’m not sure I’d describe him as any more innocent than you are, Chris.” With that, he pointedly looked straight at Chris, prompting him into laughing.

“Right, right, you have me there. All our innocents are sitting there in the middle, aren’t they?” Fellow competitors all still in their teenage years did happen to have been grouped in the middle of the round booth table, but with ten people crowded around, it wasn’t surprising.

Just like it wasn’t surprising that said “innocents” heard, starting a good natured back and forth that lasted most the evening.

Yuuri kept out of it for the most part, breathing more easily when he wasn’t being listened to or held accountable for being too straightforward. Victor was quieter than usual too, trading banter and flirtations with Chris and the woman sitting to his left, but otherwise listening and focusing on the food.

By the time everyone was heading out, Yuuri had forgotten most the earlier conversation, mind already on bed and when he had to wake up in the morning to get ready and head in for their scheduled practice session. They were close enough to the hotel to walk, and residual guilt in having indulged in dessert on top of everything else made it seem like a good idea. Protein was important: dessert, however, was not.

The staggered group of skaters and coaches started back or headed out for a night of drinking, depending on personal preference. All the younger skaters were pointing themselves back toward the hotel, Yuuri lingering at the tail end. He enjoyed the chill night air where it tweaked the exposed tip of his nose and cheeks, his hat pulled down to cover most of his ears. He was rewrapping his scarf around his neck when he registered someone falling into step with him. Glancing their way, he was surprised to find Victor nonchalantly keeping pace.

“You know, as a matter of surprising people, that’s something you could always do yourself, right?”

“Huh?” What in the world was Victor talking about?

Victor smiled, amused, eyes sliding toward Yuuri’s face. “Bring a sense of mature sexuality onto the ice. It wouldn’t be like anything you’ve skated before.”

Struck dumbfounded by the hilarity of someone implying he could even bring something like that to the ice, Yuuri blurted out what first came to mind. “Who’d even want to see me try that?!” _How_ or _why_ would he even try? These days he had a better handle on how to generate expression and emotion through his skating, but it was such a foreign concept his mind wasn’t wrapping around it.

“I would!” Victor offered cheerfully, almost off-hand and unconcerned about what he said. “Your skating carries such strong emotion and… musicality, it’d be interesting to see what you’d do with something outside of your known element.” Victor shrugged; his advice sounded more on par with what Victor himself did. Yuuri didn’t strive to surprise the audience, as he’d read Victor say he did in various interviews over the years, but he did appreciate making them _feel_. Victor’s advice wasn’t even bad, just unexpected.

“I… don’t know if that’s anything I can do.” Wrapping his head around the factual sounding compliments in Victor’s words was difficult enough. The tease was almost too much, but in a way he was used to it by now. Victor and Chris were much worse to each other than either of them were with teasing Yuuri. Then again, these days he could hold his own when his head wasn’t distracting him with white noise. “I don’t know much about anything like that.”

“Hm.” Victor looked forward, walking in companionable silence for a beat or two. “Do you only skate what you personally feel?”

“Um. I guess? Or it’s not that, but I skate, or when I skate, I rely on feelings I already know. I think that’s how it works for me, at least.” He hunched his shoulders, hands fisting in his pockets. He didn’t have the words to really describe his relationship to the ice, or to what he skated. He had to connect with his programs on some level in order to communicate anything to the audience, but he did tend to use emotions he already understood. Wanting to distract Victor from pursuing that line of questioning, Yuuri glanced up at him, blurting out the first question that came to mind. “What about you?”

For a moment, Yuuri didn’t think Victor would respond. When he did, it was with the kind of smile Yuuri saw in front of the cameras and lights of the competition, when fans called out, or Victor was being called over for a statement or short interview. Not one of his most genuine expressions. Years ago, Yuuri wouldn’t have thought that. Years ago Yuuri hadn’t thought overmuch about _what_ kind of emotion was genuine from competitors in his sport. He had a hard enough time keeping his from spilling all over the ice, he tended to take everyone at his perception of their face value.

It turned out he didn’t like this kind of smile on Victor, and liked making it appear even less.

“Something like that,” said Victor, and Yuuri knew he was lying.

But he didn’t press, biting down on the side of his tongue and reminding himself it wasn’t his business. Strange as it’d been slowly coming to understand his childhood idol as a fellow human being, intruding on Victor’s personal life, or personal headspace, didn’t feel right. Yuuri wasn’t being invited in, so he kept his silence.

It was one of the first strained silences he could remember having around Victor, the feeling barely dispersing when they made it to the hotel lobby and the lifts. “What floor are you on?”

“Ah, eleven.” Yuuri let his hand fall back from the panel of buttons, eleven lit up from Victor. Victor’s room happened to be on the third floor, judging by what he’d pressed first. “Thanks.”

“Mm, you’re welcome.” The lift rose with the familiar pull of gravity dragging them down while they were climbing levels. “See you on the podium tomorrow, Yuuri.”

“What? Victor, don’t—” _say things like that when you don’t mean them_ , he finished, the doors closing again while Victor gave him a smile with his eyes practically closed, waving as sliding metal cut him off from view. Yuuri slumped against the back of the elevator, clutching at his chest.

“Am I ever going to get used to him saying stupid things like that?”

Part of him never wanted to stop being surprised. Part of him wanted it to be true. Another part of him knew it was, and was determined to make good; to properly share that sense of accomplishment with the man he looked up to most in contemporary figure skating.

He just had a night, practice, warm-up, and then actual free skate to get through to prove it.

No problem.

He didn’t believe himself when he thought as much, but he did at least allow himself room to breathe until he was under the spray of the shower, letting the heat and the flow of water slough off the flimsiest of the anxious thoughts swirling around his mind. Having Victor joke about expectations was great, and awful, and everything inbetween. It felt like a joke, only he knew Victor well enough and had heard the same sorts of requests often enough to understand Victor wasn’t joking.

He just wished it was as easy for him to believe as it was for Victor.

* * *

It was his best free skate of the season, and he knew it in the marrow of his bones as he took up his final position, arms held up to the ceiling in supplication to the universe at large. The hot rush of tears along with the pure joy tangled in with adrenaline as he punched at the air, calling out a wordless cry of gratitude for everything. His bows to the audience were given with smiles and hastily wiped away tears; without his glasses, he couldn’t pick out individual expressions, but he could hear and feel the applause and that was electrifying all on its own.

A rain of flowers and stuffed animals from all corners of the rink slid and bounced off the ice, Yuuri picking his way forward barely watching where he was going. He caught sight of someone at the boards waving a stuffed _something_ around with particular enthusiasm, attempting to catch his attention. Deviating course, for once trying to face a fan as directly as Minako had told him all his pre-teen and teenage years, Yuuri pulled to a stop at the boards and was rewarded with a giant brown stuffed dog and the bright eyes of a blond teenager. He had a surprising shock of red in his hair as he leaned forward, speaking in Japanese.

“ _You’re so amazing! Yuuri-san, that program was so beautiful I cried! I wish I had step sequences as high level as yours! You’re everything I look up to!”_

The babbling was overwhelming, Yuuri’s smile plastered on and awkward as he ended up in a half-hug with his enthusiastic fan (that’s what this kid was, right? A fan?) and then skating away again. He stepped off the ice, Celestino meeting him at the boards and holding the large stuffed dog while Yuuri managed to get his skate guards on, moving toward the kiss and cry.

“That was your best performance this year! It looked like you were really feeling confident out there. How’re you feeling, Yuuri?”

Taking his water bottle and drinking from it in measured sips, Yuuri stared intently up at the jumbotron. “I don’t know,” he said. “I still want to do better, Celestino. It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Wanting to improve isn’t bad, and is something we should all strive for, but Yuuri, I’m proud of you. Not just for what you showed out there today, but for this last season, and the one before. You’ve been making steady progress. I can’t wait to see where else you’ll go!”

He blinked, making himself look toward Celestino for a moment. “... Thank you,” he said, tipping his head toward him in a partial bow. Celestino meant what he said, and Yuuri appreciated the effort, but for some reason it all fell a little flat. Yuuri wasn’t satisfied yet. He wasn’t the best version of himself he could be, but…

Celestino might be right. He _had_ done well today, and his achievements might be worth holding some small pride in. Even if he wasn’t out-competing the best in the world yet.

He held the stuffed dog in his lap and returned to squinting fiercely at the jumbotron, knowing the moment his scores were shown by the switch in images. He waved and made himself smile, both gestures easier than the day before, but he was back to digging his fingers into the stuffed dog as he tried to make out the numbers as they appeared.

For the second time in as many days, Yuuri heard the announcer call out that he was in first place just as Celestino pulled him into a hug, congratulating him and laughing as he did. Yuuri smiled, heart beating too fast, letting go of his death grip on the stuffed dog to hug Celestino in return. The sense of achievement might not last for longer than the next skate, but it was amazing while it was there. Yuuri was laughing, eyes burning with a return hint of earlier tears as he and Celestino walked down and shook hands with the event organisers waiting on the padded wide walkway back toward the monitor rooms and areas away from the public.

Chris was already out on the ice, but Victor, who came on next and was the last of the men skating that day, lingered toward the back of the hall with Yakov. The two of them had been conversing, but Victor broke off with a broad smile when he saw Yuuri. “Yuuri! Congratulations!” Victor strode forward on his skates, stopping before him and reaching out to ruffle the fur of the stuffed dog. His eyes never left Yuuri’s. “That was inspiring to watch. I like your new friend.”

“I… yeah, it’s from a fan, I think.”

Victor smiled, laughing lightly under his breath. “You think?” He shook his head, hand still resting on top of the stuffed dog. “See you on the podium, Yuuri. Make sure to watch me skate!”

He pulled his hand away, stepping back and turning toward Yakov. Yuuri blinked, the flush from his earlier sense of victor renewing as a blush, moving forward with Celestino at his elbow. “Looks like you and Victor have gotten to be good friends the last few years,” Celestino said, pleased. “Making friends with the people we admire can be some of the best experiences for us. Victor Nikiforov’s even expecting to see you on the podium this year. That has to feel great!”

It did feel great, and also strange, because for a moment, Yuuri believed what Victor said too. 

* * *

Victor could have worked part time as an oracle, apparently, or so Yuuri’s increasingly ludicrous thoughts suggested while he waited for his name to be announced. Chris had given a strong performance, but not strong enough to overtake Yuuri’s lead. In the end, only Victor had, leaving Yuuri in second behind the glowing inspiration of his life.

He couldn’t stop smiling.

Event staff opened the door at the boards, Yuuri stepping onto the ice and striking out for the center spotlight. Once there, he bowed to the audience, accepting the applause and enthusiasm for what it was: a celebration. One all three of them standing on the podium had managed to achieve.

He skated back toward the podium itself and the carpet laid on the ice, stepping from one to the other and making his clunky way to Victor. They shook hands, and then Victor was leaning forward, Yuuri meeting him in a hug like he’s given to fellow podium members in the past. A shiver traveled down his spine at the feel of Victor’s breath against his neck when he said, “Congratulations, I knew you’d be up here tonight.” He chalked it up to happy nerves, giving Victor an angle-awkward hug back.

“Congratulations to you, too.”

He climbed onto the second highest step of the podium, turning to face forward while Christophe was called out and announced as the bronze medalist. He was all smiles once he hit the carpet, starting with Victor, then moving on to give Yuuri a hug as they exchanged congratulations.

“You earned this,” Chris said, speaking low and next to Yuuri’s neck. He could feel his breath tickling his hairs there, but didn’t experience the same shiver traveling down his spine as with Victor. “But that just means I’ll be coming after you even harder next season.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Still smiling, Yuuri pulled back and straightened up, Chris moving down to where the third step of the podium stood to Victor’s left.

Yuuri didn’t remember much of what followed, only the incandescent happiness that flooded through him along with the flashing lights and glint of the silver medal around his neck. His hands were full of the purple, green, and yellow bouquet, only the one bud of a yellow rose easy for him to identify. Cameras flashed, and once they were off the podium and pulled into the additional photoshoots on the ice, it was one smile, direction, looped arm around waists or shoulders direction after another. Hold up his medal here, hold out his flowers now, one foot forward, toe-pick jammed into the ice; when it was done, he still stood dazed on the ice until Chris prodded at his lower back.

“Plan on making the press conference?”

“Ah! Right, that’s happening next.” 

“Too used to getting away with just some brief interviews, aren’t you?” Chris laughed, leading the way off the ice, where Victor was already shrugging into his National Russian Team jacket. “Don’t worry, these go faster than you expect. Then it’s time to eat! Or hit up the bars,” he added, winking at Victor.

Victor smiled, good natured, but refrained from commenting. It was Chris who leaned in to stage whisper, “Victor usually only bothers with bars when he knows a few good ones in the area or someone’s a local. He prefers _fine dining_ with his dives into inebriation.”

“Where Chris enjoys anytime he can get out on the dance floor. Don’t let him fool you—he loves good food too!”

Celestino and Chris’s coach, Josef, handed over jackets and skate guards as appropriate.

“You just have the press conference today, Yuuri, but tomorrow during the pairs free skate there’s an interview you’ll need to do.” Celestino started walking down the causeway, Yuuri at his side. Victor and Yakov were already further ahead, all of them aiming to get skaters out of boots and into runners for the duration of the press conference. Yuuri faintly wished for an opportunity to shower, but he’d have more time to soak and let the aches calm down later in the evening.

All he had to do was get through the press conference, then he’d have a night in. Much as he figured Chris would try to drag him out to celebrate, he should probably resist.

* * *

Resistance proved futile. The three of them ended up at a local restaurant, looking at moderately priced food and generous portions as well as reviews. Yuuri ended up ordering lamb in an effort to try something different, while Victor ordered baked chicken, and Chris chanced the catch of the day.

“I’ll be working with a new choreographer this next season. We’ve already started working on my new programs.” 

They’d just ordered their meals, sipping at water or wine, depending on which they’d requested. 

“Oh? Anyone we’d know?”

Chris smiled, swirling the wine around in his glass. “Only if you follow ice dancing.”

Victor lifted his shoulders in a somewhat apologetic shrug. “In Russia, yes, but internationally I’m less well informed.”

Chris arched an eyebrow, lips curved into a smile as he waited for Yuuri to weigh in. “Sorry,” Yuuri said, trying not to squirm. “Singles figure skating’s more popular in Japan, and I don’t know as much as I could.” 

Chris sighed, but he was smiling, apparently unsurprised. “Uncultured,” he said, shaking his head and taking a sip of wine. “Not that Switzerland has produced so many ice dancers either. Nicola Bohren retired from competitive ice dancing two years ago, and has been working in choreography since. We work together well,” he said with a smirk that seemed to imply there was more to be said, “I think both of you will be surprised for next season.”

Yuuri barely had a handle on what he’d be doing next season. He’d probably work with Celestino and one of the Skate Club choreographers to help bring things together, then refine further after their input. It’d be an expense, but one of a necessary kind. Yuuri didn’t have the confidence or general vision to craft two programs from start to finish, at least not yet.

“Really? I love surprises!” Victor set his wine glass down, eyes sparkling as he fixed Chris with a considering look. “I can’t wait to see what Nicola helps bring out in your skating. I take it he’s familiar with your style?” Victor canted his head to the side, shooting Chris a small grin. “You’re fantastic with your spins, and pairing that with the quad lutz, I can see you going far.”

Victor really was direct in giving people compliments. Yuuri figured he was just as direct in his criticisms, but Victor had yet to be cruel. Evaluating, distant, there were other things he _had_ been, but never cruel. 

Still, sitting at a table with two men who were already well on their way to having next season’s programs figured out, he mostly wanted a change in topic.

“What’s he like?” He asked.

“Nicola?” Chris tapped a finger against his wineglass as he thought. “He has a habit of always coming too soon, but he’s remarkably patient, and his creative vision is worth commenting on.”

Victor took another long sip of his whine and Yuuri nursed his water, grateful when Chris took off describing his new choreographer and left Yuuri to the role of listening. Their entrees arrived not long after, and the rest of the evening’s conversation was in regards to preferences in cuisine, who had the best fish, what counted as fresh fish, and where in the world had the best lamb.

All in all, it was a nice enough evening, and while Chris and Victor headed out to a dance club after, Yuuri made his goodbyes and headed back to the hotel. With interviews and the gala looming in his near future, he wanted a longer soak in the inadequate hotel room bathtub before heading to bed. Besides, he needed to figure out when he could call and talk to his family. For once, it felt like calling home with decent news, and he was happy for that feeling.

Only a few more days and he’d be back in the United States. Next season was an Olympic season, and with that added consideration, he needed to get working on finding acceptably competitive programs. He wanted the chance to represent Japan at the Olympics, for all he didn’t dare dream of medaling there.

Except… what if he could?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Victor both participate in the World Team Trophy. Yuuri introduces Victor to _katsudon_ , and accompanies him to see some of the last blossoming _sakura_ trees in the region one morning.

Back in Detroit, thoughts of the Olympics worried away at the back of his mind to the point where he was already seeing next season, ignoring the remnants of the one he’d just had. He’d known it was another World Team Trophy year, even read an article about teams being announced, but he didn’t connect what it meant to him personally until Celestino brought up that the JSF was sending Yuuri as part of Team Japan. 

The energy at the event was different from the start, Yuuri connecting with his teammates with a shared sense of national pride, and all of them happy to be there representing Japan in a more fun, less heavy environment than what he suspected would be the case for any Olympic Team. Individuals would rank as they did, but a win meant scoring well in each category. Winning enough points to edge out the other teams as a whole meant all of them wanted each other to do well even when in direct competition.

There was a different pressure when it struck home how his failure wouldn’t just be his. He’d be letting down the whole _team_. He’d be letting down his _country_ , albeit not at anything as important as the Olympics. Still, it was enough that when he came in sixth after his short program, Yuuri was fretting, crushingly disappointed, even _irritated_ that he was here in this event that wasn’t supposed to matter and he was still letting everyone down.

Story of his life, it felt like, looking at the seven points to his name and to Team Japan. Even his teammate in men’s had managed to get…

Yuuri checked the result board. _Eighth._ Five points to Yuuri’s seven, twelve points in total, six points behind Team Russia after Victor took first and his teammate, a man Yuuri hadn’t skated against before, took seventh after two larger program fumbles.

He was trying to hold it together after a quick shower and dressing down into his sweats, heading back on foot to the hotel. He wasn’t halfway across the hobby before a familiar voice hailed him, heart speeding up in surprise. _It’s just surprise._ He’d always be surprised to hear Victor calling out his name.

“Yuuri!”

Turning toward the sound of his voice, Yuuri blinked and offered a small, tired smile. “Victor. Congratulations on your skate today.”

Victor smiled, lifting a hand as if to wave off Yuuri’s words, but thinking better of it. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to seeing how everything ends up tomorrow. It felt like a lot of rocky skates out there on the ice.”

Yuuri bristled, grimacing and looking away. “It was unfortunate,” he said, agreeing and feeling almost bitter at himself. He knew he could do better. They both did, and while the statement wasn’t aimed at him, or even critical, he still felt stung.

Not by Victor, but by the words he couldn’t deny. He _knew_ he was letting everyone down!

“Yuuri?”

His head jerked up, pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of his name. “Huh? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

“I was asking if you had plans for dinner tonight.” Victor smiled, watching Yuuri’s face. Yuuri blushed, certain he’d been caught out in having wandering thoughts. Holding his hands up, he waved them in front of himself, shaking his head.

“Only ordering in my room.”

Did he imagine the minute pause from Victor? He must have, since even as he blinked and was about to apologise, Victor was smiling and speaking first.

“No chance in luring you out?”

 _To what, my doom?_ The amusing thought had Yuuri’s lips quirked up, shaking his head again. “Not tonight, I’m sorry.” It was nice Victor was extending the invitation, but the last thing he needed was to spend more time in his company when he had his own nerves to work through for the next day. He expected that would be the end of it, and he might hear from Victor again later. He was wrong.

“What about tomorrow?”

“I… don’t know.” He didn’t know what he’d be feeling the next day, other than a sense of inevitable _something_ when his free skate would be over. 

“Okay, if not dinner, what about lunch the day after?”

Yuuri paused, blinking up at Victor, baffled, then bizarrely enough, amused. “You know, sure. Why not. There’s nothing left to…” he says, trailing off and making a gesture at himself and the room. _Nothing left for me to mess up, and the fretting is off onto the rest of my teammates at that point_.

Victor lit up, eyes shining as he grinned. “Great! It’s a date!”

Which in turn made Yuuri snort, choking on his own spit as he tried not to laugh and failed. “It’s lunch, Victor!”

“A date for lunch, one we should probably pick a time for,” he said, reasonable enough. 

Yuuri bit down on his lip, holding back the urge to laugh or blurt out anything unwise. When he had his initial impulse under control, he offered, “We can look at schedules after tomorrow’s free skate.” Victor would be involved in a press conference and photographs; maybe by then he’d forget this impulse. Yuuri wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a pre-emptive let-down, but it wouldn’t be surprising. At this rate, Yuuri wouldn’t be involved in anything but the team photoshoots.

The disappointment in himself bit deep, stealing his smile away. “I should go,” he said, turning away from Victor with a nod of his head. Much as he liked his company, he was almost too bright, too much right then.

“Yuuri,” he heard Victor call out. He stopped, ducking his head before he looked back toward where Victor stood, a slight smile on his lips. “Good luck. See you tomorrow.”

His fingers twitched, curling in toward the palms of his hands. “Yeah,” he said, voice softer, expression firming. “See you.”

* * *

He came in second, his fellow countryman, Sosu Rintarou, pulling off a strong skate and landing third by half a point. Victor took first, to no surprise but plenty of enthusiasm. His teammate ended up in tenth, leaving their point accumulation at 33 for each team, leading over the other four countries represented.

Yuuri was still riding on a high of accomplishment after the press conference ended, once the photographs and interviews and statements were done. He was tired, but in the good way, feeling strangely re-energised once he parted ways with Celestino, heading up for his room.

One lift was just starting to close when he reached them, darting forward at the last moment and throwing himself between the closing doors. They stopped, pulling back and fully opening again, Yuuri catching himself before slamming into the back wall of the lift and breathing out in a huff of amusement. “Made it!” He turned with a smile, finding himself face to face with Victor.

Of course.

Victor looked amused, lips curled in a small smile. “You did,” he said, Yuuri straightening up with a sheepish grin, feeling his face heat up. “Were you looking for me, or is this just my luck?”

It was pure, blind luck, Yuuri staring up at Victor and offering little more than a half smile as he closed his eyes, breathing out in a long, held _hah_. “Luck, mostly. I want a shower and then…” Yuuri stopped, struck by inspiration. He was here in Japan, he’d managed to help his team tie with Team Russia, he wasn’t a complete failure, and _he had an appetite._ Looking into Victor’s eyes, Yuuri brought one clenched fist in front of himself, the excitement of relief and pride in being able to hold his own and help his country’s team lending him a sense of buoyancy he didn’t often find. “Victor, let’s eat _katsudon!_ ”

He realised what he’d said almost as soon as he’d said it, mouth dropping open in distress and clenched fist still held up between them. Victor was surprised if the upward lift of his eyebrows and the wideness of his beautiful blue eyes were any indication; Yuuri berated himself even as Victor chuckled, breaking into a happy smile.

“Mind if we shower first?”

Yuuri almost bit down on his own tongue snapping his jaw shut on the confused question he almost let free. _Together?!_ He knew he had to be scarlet red, betrayed by stupid thoughts and stupid proposals that at least weren’t as stupid as the question he’d almost blurted out. Each room had their own private bathroom here; they weren’t at a _onsen_ , after all. Of course they weren’t going to _head out of the hotel to find a public bath together._ Thinking about _katsudon_ had Yuuri thinking too much about home. That was why his thoughts were wandering in dumb directions.

“Yes, no, sure? I need to shower too, and we don’t need to go out, and I don’t even know if you want _katsudon_ , it’s just.” He straightened his shoulders, breathing in as the lift slowed to a stop. “Victor, you skated beautifully today. I’m glad I got to see it.”

The doors rolled open, Victor glancing past them and stepping to slide a hand out and hold them open. “Thank you. You made it exciting out there today,” he said, looking to Yuuri, studying his face with a curious sort of intensity. Yuuri didn’t know what to make of it. “I’m glad I got to see you skating today, too.”

They both stood in a moment of silence. Yuuri felt like Chris would have hummed at that point, or said something pointed to one or the both of them, but Chris wasn’t here. It was just Yuuri, just Victor, and a soft smile shared between the both of them. 

_I’m not satisfied. I have further to go to really catch up to him._ The point difference between their final scores tonight still showed that much, though Yuuri was closer, much closer than he’d ever been. 

For the first time, he felt he could almost accept what Victor was saying. That he could feel it, as well as hear it.

Victor eventually broke their quiet, tipping his head toward the door. “Might want to select your floor. Is forty-five minutes a decent time for showering and getting ready?”

Reaching out to tap on his floor, he nodded, avoiding Victor’s gaze. “Meet in the lobby in about forty-five minutes?”

“Got it. Oh, and Yuuri!”

Yuuri looked up, seeing Victor’s smile turn positively mischievous.

“ _Katsudon_ is what Chris was asking you to take him to eat, wasn’t it?”

Had it been? Yuuri nodded slowly, remembering Chris having said something like that before. “I think so, yes. Why?”

“No reason.”

It was on the way down to his floor that Yuuri decided it was probably going to be a selfies with food kind of night to tease Chris, if he was any judge of the dynamics between Chris and Victor.

* * *

“Then you didn’t grow up on this island?”

Yuuri looked back toward Victor, hands folded in his lap. “No, I grew up on Kyushu. We’re on Honshu right now.” Why was he trying to outline the geography of Japan to Victor, again? 

“Your family still lives on Kyushu?”

Right, because Yuuri had gotten on the topic of _katsudon_ as a favourite from childhood.

“They still live in Hasetsu, which is on Kyushu, yes. They’re running the last open _onsen_ in town.”

Victor cupped his miso in his hands, sipping from it with polite slurps. “Mm, delicious.” Something in how Victor’s eyes fluttered closed as he spoke, as if he was losing himself in the experience of drinking his soup, made Yuuri smile. He hid it behind his hand, lifting a glass of water to take a drink before Victor saw him smiling. He opened his eyes before continuing his casual questioning of information Yuuri was fairly sure could be found online.

Then again, his worship of Victor during his junior days could also be found online, so maybe it was for the best to _not_ encourage Victor to turn that direction for casual curiosity. 

“An _onsen_ like some of the ones in this area?”

“I would think so, yes. I don’t actually stop by many when I’m in the country.”

“They’re basically a kind of bath house, right?”

“Mm, often. My parents have a bath house with indoor and outdoor pools and an attached restaurant. They can host banquets, things like that, but it’s not a formal inn.”

“Then you don’t have overnight guests?”

“We don’t have that many spare rooms. But we’ve had overnight guests before, so we’d be able to find someplace for them to say, I guess.” 

Their server was back, bowls in hand. Yuuri beamed as the scent of the _katsudon_ caught his nose, from the hint of the seaweed to the richness of the breaded pork cutlet to the delight of the egg broken over it all, the onion delightfully sauteed, and everything over rice. Nostalgia from years of eating the same dish with his mother’s flair, or his father’s twist, left him inexplicably homesick as the bowls were set down before them with a dip of their server’s head.

It was odd how even here, surrounded by people speaking his first language, he still felt so far from home. It really had been too long since he’d visited, but he needed to be back in Detroit for school and for training within a few days; after the gala here, there were interviews, and at least two meetings with sponsors. One was for photographs again, but the other was a promotion where he had to help present a product line with the other sponsored skaters on his team. He had no time to stop back in Hasetsu. The _katsudon_ here would have to be the next best thing. 

He said his thanks over the bowl, palms together, before starting to eat. The first bite into sliced breaded cutlet with egg and onion was a delight to his tongue; not as good as home, never as good as home, but so much better than what he’d found in the United States.

He was startled out of his own closed-eyed reverie by an inhalation and sudden, heartfelt declaration from across the table. “ _Vkusno!_ ” Looking up to find Victor flushed, eyes bright and shining, Yuuri hastily swallowed the rest of his bite to prevent himself from choking. He already knew Victor was a knowingly elegant eater: as in he knew exactly when to try and look elegant when eating, and that was, to Yuuri’s growing knowledge, only in front of sponsors and the elder demographic directing the ISU and FFKKR, or possibly people tied in with the Olympics.

Out of those places, Yuuri didn’t know what to call it other than an experience in _enjoying_ what Victor ate. His bright smile as he held his _katsudon_ bowl in one hand, chopsticks in the other, left a fizzing, happy warmth in Yuuri’s chest. “You like it?”

“Like it? I love it! This is amazing!”

Gratified to see Victor continuing to eat with gusto, Yuuri smiled, tucking his chin in with shy pleasure. “If you think this is good, wait until you try my family’s _katsudon_.”

“Oh?” Victor paused, lowering his bowl. A stray grain of rice clung to his lower lip. Yuuri’s eyes were drawn to it as Victor ran his tongue over his lip, making it disappear. He was still looking at Victor’s mouth when he continued speaking. “Is that an invitation?”

Was he imagining Victor speaking in a softer tone? Yuuri blinked, dragging his eyes up to Victor’s. “An invitation?”

“To try your family’s _katsudon_.”

Had he just… Yuuri blushed, setting his bowl down and making sure his chopsticks were well placed before waving his hands in front of him. “No! I mean, yes? I haven’t even been home since I left for Detroit, I have no idea when we’d both find time!”

“Not even in the off season?” Victor canted his head to the right, studying Yuuri’s face. “Are you in that many summer courses or that many ice shows in the off season this year?”

“Not exactly, but I can get more classwork done, and there’s a good chance I’ll be in at least one or two ice shows for part of their tours, based on request, and… it’s expensive, going home.” His excuses sounded weak to him; Victor frowned a tad as he listened. What was Yuuri going to say? _I’m not ready to go home yet; I haven’t earned it._ There was no way he could explain that to Victor, or that he even wanted to. _I’ve barely earned the right to skate on the same ice as you do, but maybe this next year I’ll finally have proven my place there, and my right to return home worth everything they’ve given me._

It didn’t matter that there wasn’t a logical ‘worth’ involved. Yuuri knew he didn’t need to prove himself to his parents, his sister, or his friends. It still felt like he needed to achieve something noteworthy before coming home, to show them their support over the years had paid off: that Yuuri was _worth_ it.

His eyes fell back to his bowl, concentrating on eating as the silence stretched on. He’d expected it to be more awkward than it was. Not long after, he could hear Victor returning to the happy sounds of his eating, the subject dropped. He was thankful; it gave him time for the squirming feeling in his stomach to stop making him almost nauseous, allowing him to enjoy the rest of his meal.

They lapsed back into light conversation after eating, Victor driving most of it with questions both aimed at Yuuri and about anything that caught his attention. Little of it had to do with figure skating. 

He noticed the quiet Victor lapsed into only when Victor spoke again. “Is this the time of year the cherry blossoms are in bloom?”

Yuuri frowned. “Usually. Though I think the season came early this year.” His mother had mentioned it when he’d called home in March to let them know he was going to be in Tokyo in April. Minako had been intending to come, but hadn’t been able to get tickets, and Yuuri had asked too late to get her connected through his agent’s somewhat mythical prowess. “Why?”

Victor made a noise in the back of his throat, lifting his chin and looking down the way. There was a plum tree blossoming in the small park tucked in against the surrounding buildings. “I was considering taking tomorrow morning to see them. Do you think there’s anywhere nearby they’re still blossoming?”

Yuuri had his phone out, bringing up his browser to check a few of the flower forecast websites. “There might be, let me look.” Scrolling through and following a few links as he switched tabs, he looked for anything that sounded promising.

“Ah!”

“What?” Victor leaned in, brushing his shoulder against Yuuri’s as he glanced down at Yuuri’s phone.

Yuuri blinked, turning his phone to a better angle for Victor to see. It didn’t help, considering it was all written in Japanese. “If you don’t mind paying a fee to access one of the sites, there’s a report that the _sakura_ blossoms are still happening in a reserve you can reach by rail and some walking. How much time did you have in the morning?”

Victor squinted down at the screen, tapping a finger against his chin. “I’m not due back until team photos, which is in the early afternoon. You say we can get to this place by train?”

Yuuri nodded, reading over the information again. “Yes, we head out and take this line two stations over, then walk.” He frowned, looking sideways at Victor. “Wait, _we_?”

“If you’re free.” Victor smiled, dropping his hand away from his face. “We were originally going to get lunch, remember?”

He wanted to argue that for a moment, more for the absurdity of finding himself suddenly spending more time with Victor, but he had to laugh. He shook his head, turning his phone off and tucking it into a pocket. “Yes, I guess we were. Don’t expect me to be any use as a tour guide though. I’m not familiar with the area we’re going.”

“Great!” Victor’s grin was bright and spontaneous. He clapped his hands before him, straightening up and leaving Yuuri without any of his weight to support. “We can grab something to eat while we’re out! Protein would be good.” Victor lifted his eyebrows. “And we can be tourists together. I’m looking forward to it, Yuuri!”

Not so strangely, around the warm curl of gentled anxiety and a frisson of something else in his stomach, Yuuri was looking forward to it too.

* * *

“Yuuri, amazing! The trees are so beautiful like this!”

Yuuri stopped to look in the direction Victor gestured, noting the surprising number of blossoms still attached to the trees in this particular avenue through the park, with a modest number of people likewise enjoying the beauty of their surroundings. _Sakura_ trees were beautiful, perhaps because of how short their blooming season was, or any of the many reasons he’d grown up assimilating without much thought. He’d never considered them particularly poignant until he had seen Victor standing beneath them, head tilted back, looking up at the branches extended overhead. The few petals fluttering past in their swirling descent to the ground at their feet made it a heartbreaking sort of beautiful, Victor’s hair moving in the gentle breeze, his lips turned up in a faint smile.

Yuuri’s heart pounded so hard he’d pressed his palm over his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of of his coat. “Beautiful,” he agreed, and Victor hummed.

“It really is. So quick to pass us by though. Don’t you think?”

Victor brought his chin down, catching Yuuri staring at him. Blushing hard, Yuuri made himself hold Victor’s gaze. It helped when Victor didn’t say anything, his lips quirking up just a tad more at the corners.

“What?”

“Life,” Victor clarified, gesturing to the avenue of flowering trees. “Seasons. Beauty. How much of it is something you can only hope to appreciate in the moment, never knowing just how long it might last?”

He looked down the avenue of trees again, biting down on his lower lip. “I think there’s lasting impressions, too. The trees might stop blooming tomorrow, there might be a windstorm or a rainstorm that strips all their flowers. Life’s kind of unpredictable like that, but… I don’t know. We’ve still seen this. We get to remember this, even when the storms come.”

Half rambling, Yuuri wasn’t sure if what he was saying made sense. The way Victor had spoken, the almost wistful quality to his voice, made Yuuri want to step forward and affirm that _things lasted_ , too. Even when their competitive careers, like the _sakura_ blossom, only bloomed for a short time, the rest of their lives weren’t that kind of fleeting. They couldn’t be.

Victor studied Yuuri’s face, eyes difficult to read. When he smiled again, it was softer than usual. Yuuri didn’t know what to make of it. “You surprise me. Both off and on the ice these days.”

Yuuri blushed at that, lifting his hands and waving them in front of him as if that’d ward off Victor’s words. “No, no, you’re the surprising one! Both on and off the ice!”

Victor took a step closer, hands slipping into his coat pockets. “Oh?” He smiled, less soft, more like his usual smiles. “Are you saying that as a competitor?”

“Yes! No!”

“Which is it?”

“Does there need to be a _which_?” Yuuri fisted his hands, shoulders hunching. He hated when words weren’t working to say what he wanted; when even if he had the right words, he wouldn’t be able to get them out. “I’m not saying I’m on the same level as you, I _know_ I have further to go before I am. But I don’t need to be competing against you to feel you’re inspiring in whatever you do! Or that you always will be, just because you’re, I don’t know. You’re _you_.”

Victor was stunned into silence, blinking owlishly at Yuuri as Yuuri started internally berating himself for managing to probably insult Victor, somehow. Instead Victor breathed out in a soft laugh, breaking into a disproportionately amused, fond smile.

“Yuuri! See what I mean? You’re one surprise after another.” 

He didn’t have a chance to respond before Victor was pulling out his phone. “Take a selfie with me while we have the trees in the background?”

Following Victor’s thoughts could be difficult even when Yuuri wasn’t feeling thrown and pleased by Victor’s response. He was glad he hadn’t offended him, that he had instead managed to make him laugh in a good way. He loved the sound of Victor’s laughter.

“As long as you’re not planning on uploading it anywhere,” he said, already stepping closer. 

“No, no, not this one, though do you mind taking a photo of me that I can post?”

“On Instagram?”

Victor nodded, pausing then turning on Yuuri with a broad grin. “You know about my Instagram?”

Yuuri froze, caught between prevaricating and his natural inclination toward honesty if politely stated. “I’m aware of your Instagram, yes. My roommate has one too, and so does Chris.”

It seemed ridiculous that Victor would be pleased hearing this, especially when Yuuri knew he and Chris were already friended on Instagram. “What about you? Do you have an account?”

He didn’t strictly need one to follow people’s public accounts, but Yuuri had made one anyway. He rarely posted to it, past what Phichit had conned him into by the very straightforward method of taking Yuuri’s phone and having him pose for a selfie after Yuuri liked one of Phichit’s older posts. “I do.”

Victor was pulling up the app on his phone, hitting the search function. “Great! What’s your name on there? We can be friends there too!”

He thought the enthusiasm unwarranted, but in spite of himself, Victor’s energy made him smile. “Just katsuki underscore y.” Nothing special, much like his name.

“Found you!” He tapped on follow, or so Yuuri presumed, and was turning the phone back to both of them as he sidled closer. “Okay, us first, then a selfie of me and the trees?”

Yuuri held up his fingers in a v, smiling and leaning in to be part of Victor’s picture frame. Victor’s smile was broader, but the two of them fit side by side with the dark brown and soft pink of the _sakura_ trees blooming behind them. The one Yuuri took after, of Victor with both hands up in v’s and a grin on his face with the avenue of blossoming trees stretching out behind him, was a nice shot too. Yuuri was surprised it turned out decently, even more so when Victor gave his stamp of approval and fiddled with filters before posting it on his Instagram.

“You got a SIM card for while you were in Japan?”

“Yep. Easier when I want to use maps to figure out where I am, or look up information online.” Victor finished uploading the photo, glancing to Yuuri and smiling. “Did you?”

Yuuri started to shake his head, then smiled. “For Japan, yes. Not often for anywhere else I’m visiting.”

“Ah, because your phone service right now is for the United States, isn’t it.”

Yuuri nodded, pulling out the phone in question. “I’m there full time. It made more sense that way.”

“Right, right. I wondered why your number looked like it was from the US.” Victor fiddled around on his phone a little longer, tucking it back into his pocket after with another smile. “There, sent that first one your way. So, Yuuri… where do you want to eat?”

It was an exercise in finding convenience stores and eating pre-made bentos on benches, watching a few stray _sakura_ trees shed their blossoms, but Yuuri couldn’t say he minded. Neither did Victor, who seemed disproprotionately curious about the bento, eschewing an offer from Yuuri to find a fork in favour of joining him with the disposable chopsticks.

All in all, a pleasant way to pass the morning. They were back on the train heading to the hotel and their separate team interviews not long after.

“Yuuri, thank you for coming out with me today.”

“Hm?” Yuuri had been trying not to watch Victor, looking less studiously out the window than he might have otherwise. “Oh, yeah. I’m happy you enjoyed yourself. You… did, didn’t you?”

It was hard pinning down precisely what Victor’s eyes seemed to say in that moment, where his smile was softer than the crisp one he gave for the ready camera. “Yeah. I really did.” 

It felt like a confession. Yuuri didn’t know to what, exactly, but he held onto the image of Victor smiling at him from across the way and saying those words close to his heart, unwilling to let it go. He suspected that stolen moments like these were going to be some of the memories he found most important once he was on to what the rest of his life might hold. _Once, the man I admired most in figure skating wanted to see the sakura trees in bloom, and I took him to see them. We ate from convenience store bentos and he invented life stories for the few people we saw walking past._

It might be a silly story later on, but for now, it was some of Victor’s time shared with Yuuri. He was greedy enough to hope for more before… before what?

Before their careers and lives inevitably took different courses. Because in the end, he knew that was going to happen, just as it did with everyone else in their sport. It was the nature of the beast, and Yuuri, slightly better than dime-a-dozen male figure skater, wouldn’t be sharing whatever path Victor Nikiforov, living legend and hero of Russia, found himself on.

* * *

While Team Japan and Team Russia had tied in the men’s singles category, Team Japan swept through ladies singles. Both teams placed fair to middling in pairs, but Team Japan accumulated the most points, taking the gold. It was odd to be standing with a group of five other people on the podium, half arranged on a higher step to loom over the people a step below, but it was also gratifying. He could feel the happy, giddy energy from everyone, and a pride at their combined sense of accomplishment. There were longer exchanges of congratulations and photo sessions that frankly could have ended sooner, but overall, their team success was a pleasant feeling. 

“Gold’s a good look on you.” Yuuri turned to find himself looking into Victor’s eyes, the silver medal from Team Russia’s second place win hanging against his chest.

“Silver looks good on you,” he said, unthinking, caught up in the glint of silver at Victor’s neck and the soft fall of silver-blond hair around Victor’s face.

Victor laughed, fingering the silver medal, holding it up after a moment to glance down at its engraved face. “Planning on getting me to wear silver next season?”

Yuuri was equally torn between saying _yes_ and saying with as much fervor, _no_. “If I manage it, what will you do?”

The question was stupid. Victor would try harder and come back and wipe out Yuuri as competition, probably earning a whole new world record in the process.

Instead, Victor smiled, narrowing his eyes a fraction. “Congratulate you first, then look forward to competing with you the next time toe to toe.”

Yuuri found that easy to smile over, firming his shoulders as he met Victor’s gaze. “Good.”

“I look forward to what you bring to the ice next season, Yuuri.”

“Me too. I mean,” he said, throwing his hands up as he realised what his word choice might imply, “I look forward to what you bring to the ice too! Not to what I bring. I should know what I’m bringing before I get there.”

Victor’s laughter was spontaneous, one hand pressed to his stomach as he grinned at Yuuri. “You know, I think that’s the kind of surprise even I wouldn’t have the best idea of how to pull off. If you figure it out, Yuuri, let me know!”

They shared a look, then both glanced away, each smiling. Yuuri tried to hold his back, to limited success. Victor didn’t even try.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri takes his first steps toward choosing music for a program, ends up sick through his first GP Series event with Victor, and meets the choreographer in Chris's life before getting life-altering news of his own.

The gala was the comparatively relaxing, blowing off steam kind of skate that Yuuri longed for after the last week. He was even looking forward to the group performance at the exhibition.

Not that he remembered why once he was on the ice, mind blank and desperately trying to remember the simple choreography they’d run through several times in practice, but past the initial blankness, everything pulled together fairly well.

He had to meet with two different sponsors before flying back to Detroit, and was pulled aside for a variety show appearance that his agent wrangled last minute. The purpose of sitting in a tub of ice-cold water was frankly beyond him, but he managed to last a decent amount of time through stubborn determination alone before he was pulled back out and carefully and generously rewarmed until the shivering started and stopped again. He downed everything he could think of to help ward off colds after, travel mask firmly in place as he met up with Celestino at the airport.

They had more to work on, and Celestino was coaching two of them through seniors next year. Phichit wanted to put in a good showing, enough to meet the minimum requirement and be invited to the more prestigious events the following season. Yuuri wanted to show he was reliable enough to send on to the Olympics.

Both of them had their work cut out for them, and four programs to design. Even if the ISU regulation change would come into effect next season for allowing lyrical music to be used, Yuuri knew he’d avoid it for the time being: the Olympic committee hadn’t show an inclination to the same change. Easier to concentrate on music and programs he could use no matter what.

When Celestino asked if he had anything in mind for music, Yuuri hemmed and hawed while he talked to one of the students he knew in the music composition courses at the university. He hadn’t been able to give her many specifics other than asking for her to make something that’d help summarise his career up to that point. It’d felt egotistical to be sending her links to his prior competitive skates, but she’d asked. Beyond that he managed a runthrough of elements from past programs on the ice when he’d booked time early one morning and had her meet him at the rink.

Ketty said that was enough to give her an idea of what she could demo for him; if he liked the short piece, she’d be happy to work on a full song to match the length required for either the short or free skate programs. When he heard the demo, Yuuri was both excited and nervous, presenting the music to Celestino.

His stomach worked itself into knots by the time he was playing the CD for Celestino on his old, beat-up CD/MP3 player, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Watching Celestino’s expressive face remain in considering, almost grave lines left his stomach dropping, sinking well below the level of his feet.

“Yuuri, you’re sure this is what you want to use?”

His head fell forward, chin tucking in toward his chest. The ache that seized his chest told him everything he needed to know. The demo composed to summarise his achievements was as lacking as Yuuri himself. He wanted to win, and clearly, Celestino knew that. He had a track record of successful skaters to prove it. If he was questioning the song choice...

“... No, Coach. Whatever you think would work best, that’s what I’ll use.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Yuuri, we can see what a full version of this song will be like. What I want to know is if this is what _you_ want.”

He didn’t know. He shook his head to avoid trying to explain how he didn’t know that he’d be able to overcome weaknesses in a composition that supposedly reflected him as a whole. Even so, that night, he lay in bed unable to sleep while Phichit was gently snoring.

Yuuri grimaced, checking the time in St. Petersburg. Early morning for Victor meant he’d be at the rink, but there was a chance he’d see a message sent to him anyway. Yuuri slid out of bed, careful to keep the noise of sitting in his chair and starting his laptop up to a minimum. Phichit didn’t need sleepless nights on top of Yuuri’s sleeplessness. The hamsters were running around in their cage, but with the wheel taken out each evening when Phichit and Yuuri headed to bed, even their noise was gentled and reduced to rustling and occasional squeaks.

Yuuri kept his question short, using the computer app for WhatsApp to let him type a message to Victor, attaching the audio file. 

_What do you think about this piece for a program?_

He waited, biting down on his lower lip. He’d turned off the settings to see when a message was read not long after installing the app, needing one less pointless trigger for anxiety over delays in response time that he _knew_ were live. Easier when he never knew if or when messages were being read or received.

He pulled up a browser game to whittle away time, hoping to wear down his brain so he could crawl back to bed. He was supposed to be up in another few hours, heading out for the rink and an early time-block for off-ice training in the dance studio, followed by an hour on the ice with Celestino.

His phone blinked with Victor’s response.

_Haven’t heard this piece before, but it sounds like it’s still being worked on? As it is now I wouldn’t say it’s a strong piece for a competitive program. There’s a richness and depth that could be layered in. The drums are nice, but the piano carries more of the melody. I’m not sure what’s missing, but there’s something more to find. Ask your composer (?) to do another runthrough if you can._

He felt his heart sinking as he read Victor’s return message, as if he was hearing him comment on his career. “Not a strong piece,” Yuuri murmured, making himself read the whole again.

Celestino hadn’t even given him this much feedback, and Victor, the man he competed against, had offered enough to both make Yuuri feel terrible and unproven along with leaving him feeling hopeful. No, even Yuuri wasn’t yet satisfied with himself. There was something he was missing in his skating that he still needed to find.

Ketty’s composition hadn’t been weak. How could it be stronger than the source material? He read Victor’s message a third time, typing out his reply.

_Thank you._

He had nothing else to say that wouldn’t involve rambling, but while the thought was with him, he sent off an email to Ketty.

_Ketty, it’s Yuuri. Would you mind holding onto the demo and reworking it over the course of this season? I feel there’s something I’m still missing as a skater that is waiting to be found in the music, too. I won’t be using this right away, in that case, but for the 2014-2015 season, if that’s okay? Let me know. Sincerely, Yuuri Katsuki_

He closed his laptop, sitting in his chair in the dark and closing his eyes. The determination that followed on the heels of the self-directed disappointment he couldn’t easily banish told him he’d have to make a good showing of himself this year. For the Japan, for the Olympic potential, and for himself.

He’d give Ketty the material to make her composition and Yuuri’s career seem richer, fuller, than they were now.

He’d make sure of it, somehow.

* * *

From then on, everything became a blur of days of school and training, both on and off the ice. He kept up weekly visits to the smaller dance studio where he’d taken pole lessons when he’d first been training in Detroit, largely using their ballet room when classes weren’t in session. He’d practice on the pole when they were, keeping his body busy while his mind would swing between over-busy and over-bright to a duller, more manageable version of the same.

His first international event was decent, even if he didn’t take podium. He still felt it was a loss, hitting the ice after and drilling himself until Celestino was pulling him off to work on off-ice weights and resistance training to spare him from entrenching bad habits on ice.

He was seeded into two events for the Grand Prix Series: for the first time sharing an assignment with Victor. He noted with a smile that he and Chris were in his second event together, though he really couldn’t decide if that made him lucky or unlucky, facing his top competition in the events leading up to the Grand Prix Final. With luck, all three of them would qualify. 

He and Victor didn’t end up having much time to do more than exchange words at Skate America. Yuuri felt queasy the whole time, more than nerves alone could explain. When he finally acknowledged he had some kind of flu or cold, he buckled down on fluids and getting himself into bed as early as he could, keeping to just his training schedule and otherwise conserving energy. 

He wouldn’t allow his body to betray him over a cold, hitting the ice for his short program and taking his off-center starting position. The music started, and his head was an ongoing series of conflicting commentaries and repetitions not to fall. To his immense relief and some confusion, he made it through his program without kissing the ice. He couldn’t remember stretches of it, and he was more exhausted and breathing harder than he ever was normally, but he’d finished.

He bowed without incident, striking out for the boards and the kiss and cry. Everything felt like he was moving through molasses, a touch too slow to respond once the adrenaline carrying him through his short program faded.

He was so out of it he barely registered being in first, blowing his nose loudly right as the camera cut back to him and Celestino announcing his scores. He didn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed, offering a victory sign and then smiling at the camera. Celestino helped him back to his feet, frowning and pulling him away from the group of journalists looking to interview him, taking him right back to the hotel on the shuttle bus.

It was how most of the competition passed, Yuuri amazed by the end to find himself standing on the podium with a silver around his neck in spite of everything. He refused to hug anyone, bowing his head in apology until he started tipping forward, caught from falling by Victor’s quick actions latching onto one of Yuuri’s arms. For all their photos on the podium, Yuuri allowed Victor’s hand at his elbow to help keep him focused and steady, following Victor down to the third and lowest step of the podium before getting back on the carpet.

“Only a little more of this, and the press conference, then you can pass out again,” Victor said, expression closer to a frown before the cameras were turned back their way and he was all smiles. Yuuri smiled too, feeling dopey and slow but proud, so proud, that he hadn’t let this cold ruin him at the competition. 

He tried his hardest to pay attention during the press conference, but after a few delayed responses and questions about his health, the majority of the reporters and journalists left him alone. Victor stepped in without missing a beat, redirecting a few of the more ambiguous questions and helping bring the conference to a close with a swift efficiency that left Yuuri awed.

He wished _he_ could handle the press that smoothly. It was unfair, but also impressive. Kind of attractive, but right then, he also found cold medicine and cold masks attractive. He might have tried proposing marriage to his bed when he crawled under the covers not long after the press conference ended, but he didn’t know for sure.

He was doing worse the next day, but got through the gala and the banquet, or so he guessed. He remembered feverish snippets, drinking lots of water, saying thank you to the people he should and to pretty much anyone who caught his wandering, hazy attention. Celestino was on him, keeping him bundled and moving and ushering him off to his room after the polite amount of time had been spent at the banquet.

“Interviews will have to wait. Please feel free to contact his agent through the JSF with questions, we have no comment at this time, thank you!”

Even Celestino could handle the press so well. Yuuri wondered if there was a class for that back at the university he attended in Detroit. Like public speaking, but speaking with reporters and at panels where questions that were at times pointed barbs in and of themselves could be flung out without warning.

Victor sent along a recipe for soup and well wishes once Yuuri was back in Detroit and Victor was back in St. Petersburg. Yuuri couldn’t make heads or tails of the recipe; he handed his phone off to Phichit, who ended up rallying one of the guys down the hall into helping him make the recipe in question.

Yuuri didn’t know if it tasted good, since he still couldn’t taste much of anything at that point. What he did know was that the soup was warm, and filling, and he started getting past the worst of his lingering cold after his first bowl. (Or it might have been his second. Phichit refused to say.)

* * *

When Phichit and Celestino were out at Phichit’s first international competition of the season, Yuuri sent inspirational texts to his rinkmate that mostly consisted of smiling emoji and fireworks. He chanced taking photographs of Phichit’s hamsters, managing at least one out of the dozens where the three of them were sleeping and not moving fast enough to leave a blurry afterimage.

Phichit achieved fourth, something he was immensely proud over. Yuuri was too, listening to Phichit’s stories about what had gone on, where he ate, who he spoke with, and all the photographs associated.

“I want to see everything while I’m traveling. I already have to cover the costs, so if I’m in all these places, I should be seeing more than just the rink! There’s so much out there, Yuuri, I want to experience as much of it as I can.”

Yuuri didn’t have the same urge, but he enjoyed listening to Phichit’s distracted stories as he showed Yuuri the selfies he’d taken at various locations. There were also selfies with fellow competitors, one of Phichit with a few fans, and a handful of Phichit with Celestino in various locations.

Yuuri was in perfect health when he got to the Trophée Éric Bompard in Bordeaux, France. He hadn’t been assigned the the NHK Trophy for the first time, which was an odd experience, but not too unsettling. He ran into Chris in the lobby, stifling a yawn as he waved.

Chris waved back, talking with a man who stood about his height, with light brown hair. Yuuri didn’t recognise him, but Josef was there too, talking on his cellphone.

Yuuri didn’t mull over the mystery until after he and Celestino were checked in, each with their keys to their own room. He should head up and do what unpacking he bothered with, but when he turned to head toward the lifts, he found Chris was still there, talking with the same man. Josef was nowhere to be found.

It’d be rude to interrupt. Yuuri lifted a hand for another wave as he walked past, bundled and wearing his mask, suitcase trundling along after him.

“Yuuri! Come here for a moment, I want you to meet my new choreographer. Nicola, this is Yuuri Katasuki. Yuuri, this is Nicola Bohren.”

Yuuri smiled, nodding his head to Nicola in lieu of shaking hands. “It’s good to meet you, Nicola.”

“Good meeting you too, Yuuri.”

Chris smiled in the lazy, self-satisfied way he did before announcing something he found particularly pleasing. “Nicola’s helped me perfect the kind of skating I want to show the world this season. I usually don’t get properly worked up until it’s the Grand Prix Final, but Yuuri, I feel like everything’s coming up faster this season than it has before.”

“Try not to get too worked up,” Yuuri said, offering a small, amused smile. “I’m aiming for gold, Chris, and I won’t make it easy.”

“Neither will I,” Chris said without missing a beat. “I’ll be on top before you know it.”

“But will you stay there?”

Chris smiled, eyes narrowing as he took in Yuuri’s purposeful cheekiness. It’d taken a few years, but he was more comfortable with their bantering than he had been when he’d started out in the seniors division.

“Oh, Yuuri, I’m all for switching things up, but sometimes you know just the position you want to find yourself in.”

They both smiled, equal parts competitive spirit and congenial amusement. Yuuri knew Chris didn’t have the luxury of dismissing Yuuri after his showings the last two years, but Yuuri had even less room to dismiss Chris. He’d outcompeted him in a few competitions before, yes. Chris still held more consistent high scores in his international competitions.

This was the year Yuuri aimed to change all that.

* * *

“In conclusion, you may have won gold, but now you have to come out to dinner with us.”

“Really?” Yuuri gave Chris a sideways look, tired but pleased. Nicola had quirked up his eyebrows at Chris’s statement, meeting Yuuri’s gaze with a small shrug of his shoulders and a good natured smile.

“If you want. We thought we’d hit up a restaurant further away from the hotel and event center after washing up.”

He was tempted to say no anyway, but he hadn’t spent time with Chris in a while, and he was hungry enough to find going out to one meal at an undisclosed location affordable enough if he was aware of what he spent. 

“You don’t mind the company?”

“Not at all, it’s why we’re asking! I’ll be asking to call it an early night, so we won’t stay out late. No bar hopping, I promise.” Chris winked, all three of them still heading out the front of the event center.

Yuuri snorted, smiling a little. He’d never joined Chris or Victor in bar hopping, for the simple reason that when it came to alcohol, he took too much after his father. A great capacity for consumption, poor calls on when he’d reached limits, and absolutely no reservations on behaviour when thoroughly soused. Also few recollections of what he’d done the night before; the one time he’d managed to get that drunk in the United States, he’d apparently tried and succeeded in scaling one of his rink-mate’s apartment buildings by the fire escape. All while singing Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On,” apparently.

No need to tempt fate more often than necessary.

“Okay, as long as there’s time to wash up before we’re heading out.”

“I was thinking in about an hour?”

“That’d be great, thank you.” Yuuri stepped into the lift, hitting his floor number. Nicola pressed two more buttons; he wasn’t staying on the same floor as Chris, it seemed.

“Then we’ll all meet back up down in the lobby in about an hour. Wear one of your button-downs, Yuuri? Nicola’s been teasing about casual dress restaurants all week, I think he’s finally going to follow through.”

Yuuri breathed out in a sigh of amusement, nodding his head. The lift doors rolled open on his floor. He waved to Chris as he stepped forward, slipping through them. “Sure, I can manage that much.”

He flopped on his bed when he got to his room, closing his eyes and letting everything try to sink in. He was going to the Grand Prix Final, no doubt about that. Both his showings so far were good, though not as great as he wanted, but he was showing improvement with each time he stepped on the ice.

_You’re also messing up in new ways. Don’t get lazy._

He pushed himself up, pulling off layers as he made his way to the hangars. When everything was hanging to air out, he walked into the shower and turned both knobs on, shivering in the sudden spray of cold water that hissed and whined as it warmed.

Getting the gel out of his hair was meditative, almost calming enough that he didn’t stop to think about how Chris would be improving for the next time they shared the ice, or how Victor was already stunning this season, someone Yuuri was closing gaps between but not there yet. His thoughts flitted between conversations he should have with Celestino, a text Phichit had sent him with a congratulations, the call he needed to make home, the congratulations he found waiting from Victor. Classes that were waiting in Detroit, mostly for the essays he had due and the exams he’d be taking soon. Sometimes thinking about everything going on and that needed to happen was too overwhelming for him to parse.

His head wasn’t calm when he was ready and waiting for Chris and Nicola, both dressed business casual in button down shirts and dark slacks. Chris had his glasses on, claiming that without planning a fast paced night on the town, he hardly needed to keep his contacts in.

Nicola directed them to a café serving both tapas and larger entrées, getting them a table near the window through chance instead of planning. Yuuri stayed quiet, letting Chris and Nicola carry the conversations for the most part. He felt like something of a third wheel as he watched the two of them interact, smiles lingering between them, Chris reaching out and casually tucking a lock of Nicola’s hair behind an ear when they were discussing the dessert menu. It was on Yuuri, and he recognised that, because neither man was excluding him from conversing, and outside of the one touch of Nicola’s hair, they weren’t even being particularly… public in displays of affection.

None of it even bothered him, past feeling like somehow he was taking away time they could be spending in just each other’s company. He knew it was ridiculous: they’d invited him along. It was still a lingering thought, for all that the raciest thing any of them said was related to skating.

“... doing the best to skate the way I like. It’s what all of us aim for, don’t you think?”

Yuuri blinked, realising Chris was addressing him while they waited for their small samplings of dessert to arrive. “Huh?”

Chris smiled, Nicola shaking his head. “Chris, is there anyone who competes trying to be anything less than themselves?”

Chris lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug, straightening up in his seat and tapping a finger on the tablecloth. “I don’t know if anyone could. Even if we’re all inspired by the people we look up to,” he started saying.

“Like Stéphane Lambiel?”

“Like Stéphane, or Victor,” Chris said, tipping his head toward Nicola in acknowledgment, “We incorporate elements of what we admire into what we skate, but we still have to make our skates our own.” He nodded to Yuuri, lips quirked in a lopsided grin. “You can tell Yuuri has been influenced by Victor, for instance, just like you can see Victor’s been influenced by Stéphane. Neither one of them are skating an imitation. They’re skating as only they can, which is why,” he said, leaning toward Nicola and pointedly poking him in the arm, “Only _I_ can skate with the sensuality and style that I want to see. Don’t you agree?”

Yuuri smiled as Nicola considered Chris’s point, lips pulled upward in a gently amused smile. “You know, I think maybe I do. Though are you telling me that you don’t have anyone you were or are inspired by?”

Chris leaned back, pressing a hand to his chest and gasping, mock offended. “Me? Of course! I’ll have to commend Yuuri’s good tastes and say Victor was definitely one of the skaters I looked up to, and still do, but before even he was on the ice, there was Stéphane…”

Chris fluttered his eyelashes with a dreamy sigh, interrupted in what would have been a much longer list as the server returned with dessert in hand.

It was embarrassing to an extent to be called out for having obvious influences from Victor in his skating career, but by and large he didn’t contest what he knew was true. He also didn’t confirm it, since Chris never asked directly, Yuuri never had to proclaim himself one way or another.

Having Chris confirm he was also inspired by Victor was a relief of sorts, though he supposed it should have been a given. At their ages, and with the skaters in their generation, who amoung them weren’t at least somewhat inspired by Victor Nikiforov?

Dinner ended on a pleasant note, Yuuri volunteering to walk the mile back to the hotel while the two of them shared a cab back. 

“Are you sure?”

“It’s a nice night,” Yuuri said, insisting with a smile. It faded as he started walking, face settling into neutral lines as he considered where he was going from here. A gold against Chris was an achievement, and not one to be taken lightly, but if he wanted to win gold over Victor…

He still had a ways to go.

* * *

Gold turned out to still be a lovely colour on Victor as well, Yuuri thought, standing as he did to Victor’s right wearing the silver medal and a bright smile. He wasn’t satisfied, and wouldn’t be until he felt he’d given his best and the absolute limits of his capabilities, but for the moment he stood under the bright lights and held his medal aloft, other arm weighed down by another bouquet of flowers, he was happy. He still felt a shiver travel down his spine when Victor said his soft congratulations by Yuuri’s ear, leaving him feeling almost weak kneed and thankful that the rest of the medaling ceremony took as long as it did. Chris was smiling from where he stood with his bronze, but the looks he sent both their way was calculating, promising that his performances at the European Championship and Worlds would be something to watch out for.

Nicola hadn’t come to the GPF alongside Chris, and the three of them only managed to arrange one meal together the day before they were skating their short programs, but it’d been nice getting to sit down and catch up in person. There wasn’t so much surprising news to share, but anecdotes about occurrences at their home practice rinks and the sort of small stories that never seemed important to share until sitting down over a meal with people whose presence he appreciated.

They all ended up whisked away to different interviews following the press conference, Yuuri catching up with Chris the next day when they were warming up on the ice. “Seems like a simple enough choreography this time,” Yuuri said, nodding toward the center of the rink where the last pair skating couple stood, speaking with the choreographer.

“Aren’t they always?” Chris laughed, leaning back against the boards and waiting for the call for everyone to skate out together. Victor was talking with one of the ladies singles skaters nearby, laughing at whatever she said in Russian before switching back to English. 

“Imagine the disaster it’d be if they gave us anything overly complicated.” Yuuri held up his hands, doing air quotations as he continues speaking. “Top tier skaters all injured in gala opening act. Surprising twist for the season! Will any of them be ready in time for the next major competition?” He dropped his hands down again, shaking his head. “There’s enough near misses in practice.”

Chris laughed, tilting his head back to regard the dark latticework of the far overhead ceiling. “Sure, that might happen. Still, I like the challenge of learning a new choreography at the drop of a hat. Trying to make it work and make it mine at the same time makes it _exciting_.” He drew out the syllables of the word exciting, turning into a far more sensual word than it had any right to be.

Yuuri, for his part, snorted out a half-laugh, then sighed. “Exciting isn’t always what I’m looking for, but I guess it can be nice.”

There wasn’t much more time to chat except in snippets as they passed by each other on the ice, Victor waving to Yuuri, then catching and returning blown kisses with Christophe as they arced around the rink. All in all, there was a lot of good laughter before they stepped back through the boards and were off to what was next on schedule, the ice being cleaned for the ice dance free skate to follow.

* * *

The season seemed to be flying past at a breakneck speed leading straight up to the Olympics. He defended his gold at Nationals, still feeling like an imposter despite knowing his skating had been gold worthy. He’d missed the kind of enthusiastic support prevalent at home competitions, a veritable sea of stuffed foods and dogs littering the ice after his free skate and all en route to be donated to one of the largest children’s hospitals in the region.

The announcements for assigning people to 4CC, Worlds, and the Olympics came out all at once following Nationals. Yuuri was a mess, incapable of keeping himself from fidgeting and fretting and so on edge that Celestino ordered him to go back to the hotel room after Yuuri walked into walls three different times instead of the perfectly functional automatic doors right next to them.

His heart wouldn’t calm down as he waited for news of the announcement, checking his phone compulsively, sitting down, standing up, jogging in place, turning on the television, turning it right back off again. He sat down once more, foot bouncing as he stared out the window looking over this part of Saitama. 

His phone buzzed in his hands as he lost track of time chasing his own thoughts in circles, Yuuri startling enough to almost throw his phone off his lap and onto the bed. He kept hold, staring down at the notification light blinking that he’d received a message.

He could avoid reading it, he told himself, as he unlocked his phone and brought up the message. An email, of course it was an email, and…

He leapt off the bed with a happy cry, punching the air overhead. “Yes! I’m going to the Olympics!” As well as Worlds, and not the Four Continents, which followed pattern for earlier years. Even as it registered, his endorphin and adrenaline high fading, Yuuri found himself staring at his reflection in the hotel room door.

“You’re going to the Olympics.”

_Don’t mess it up._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri arrives at the Sochi Winter Olympics! Chance encounters and a birthday celebration are only part of what he encounters while there, on top of the competition.

A blur of interviews, meetings with sponsors, and coursework filled in all the falsely empty spaces in his life, leaving him with barely enough time to remember to respond to important emails or calls. His social media time turned into a mindless scroll first thing in the morning, Victor’s photographs of Makkachin and his selfies around St. Petersburg a somewhat pathetic light in his life.

He sent off a text to Mari asking if she’d be willing to send him more photos of Vicchan; she replied by simply sending him a picture of her thumbs up and Vicchan looking curiously back up at her hand and the leash connected to it.

Having never been involved in preparing for the Olympics before, Yuuri wasn’t ready for the amount of packing and planning that went into the whole event. Celestino was, thankfully, and his reminders to Yuuri helped ensure he packed enough and had a general idea of what to expect out of the Olympic Village long before he ended up in Sochi. 

It still didn’t quite prepare him for the reality: thousands of competitive athletes from eighty-five countries meant the Olympic Villages were genuinely _town_ -sized in construction. Paving stones were still being laid down by the time he’d flown in with Celestino, traversing the coastal cluster village to find the building decorated by Japan’s Olympic Committee. The coordinated flags hung from balconies were both mystifying and welcome, a simple riot of colour in the face of so many other flags being flown throughout the village.

He was rooming with the other Japanese figure skater who’d qualified for the event, Kazumi Ogawa, who if anything looked more visibly nervous than Yuuri. They didn’t talk much outside of pleasantries, but Kazumi was nice enough, disappearing to the common rooms to talk with one of the three women competing in the ladies division not long after they’d all unloaded off the bus and sorted themselves out into their rooms.

After unpacking, Yuuri sat on the blue-quilted mattress and considered his options. He was tired, but not overly tired; he knew Victor was already here, and Chris should be getting in sometime that day. He had a general map of the Village, including where the three twenty-four hour cafeterias were located. The recreation rooms and training rooms were also of interest, but right then he wanted tea more than anything else. Surely they cafeterias would have tea.

Walking the pathways toward the nearest one, he spotted a dog sniffing at the corner of a building before lifting their leg to mark territory. The dog turned their head, spying Yuuri, and gave a wag of their tail, head cocking to the side.

He shouldn’t stop to pet the stray dog. Yuuri fully intended to keep walking. Even so, as he moved past and the dog ambled along at a diagonal to his path, still projecting friendly, positive body language, Yuuri relented.

“Here, you.” Yuuri crouched down, holding out his hand. The dog paused, sniffing at the air, wagging their tail once more before carefully walking closer. Another sniff of Yuuri’s hand was followed by a lick, then the dog shoved their head into Yuuri’s palm and proceeded to lean into him.

He’d been starved for canine attention for so long that Yuuri almost spent the next half hour there. The dog, stray that they were, clearly appreciated the attention, only stepping away as some sound Yuuri couldn’t make out caught their attention. With a final wag of their tail, the dog butted their head against Yuuri’s legs and took off at a light trot, heading back between the buildings the way that Yuuri had come.

He smiled to himself, figuring there had to be a place to wash his hands at the cafeteria. There was, with working and safe water; Yuuri was thankful for that, cleaning up and then checking over the widely varied menu, feeling up for more than just tea now that he was there. He settled on a basic looking noodle dish from the advertised “Asian” section of cuisine. It turned out hotter in spiciness than he expected, but not so much that he had to beg off from finishing the bowl. Living with Phichit had been a slow expansion of his spice palate. He sent Phichit a mysterious thank you with a pepper emoji, smiling to himself as he cleared his tray and considered wandering over to one of the recreation centers.

He had two messages come through as he made his way through the Olympic Village. One was from Celestino, warning him not to pet the stray dogs reported as wandering through the area (too late, and with no regrets on Yuuri’s part). The second was from Victor, asking if Yuuri had seen the giant fountain over near the different competition centers yet.

He sent a quick text back to Celestino, thanking him for the warning and asking how his hotel accommodations were. He paused before sending a text back to Victor, standing next to the closed off area where workers were cleaning a waterless pool.

_Not yet. Why?_

Victor’s response came at a small delay.

_Want to check it out together? If you’re free, I don’t want to take you away from your fellow country-people._

Yuuri blinked, snorting in soft amusement. He enjoyed spending time with who he enjoyed spending time with: Phichit, Victor, and Chris ranked higher than his fellow competing figure skaters from his own country. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, other than just how disjointed he’d gotten since leaving Japan for school and training, and entering the senior’s division. Kazumi wasn’t expecting Yuuri to be around anytime soon.

_Okay, why not? I heard from someone in the cafeteria it lights up at night, but the daytime should still have the water shows._

Were any of those running before the Opening Ceremonies? He hadn’t been taken through that way when he and Celestino had been transported from the airport to the Olympic Village. 

_No idea. Let’s find out! Where are you?_

They coordinated where to meet up, Yuuri wandering away from the swimming pool under work to stand in the early afternoon shadows of a nearby building. Victor found him there, lifting a hand in a hailing motion that Yuuri returned.

“Yuuri! You got in early.”

“So did you.” Yuuri smiled, then allowed his expression to fall into more neutral lines as they turned and started walking toward the competitive arenas. “Chris said he’d be in late tonight.”

Victor hummed an acknowledgement, lifting his shoulders in a faint shrug. “He has a tendency to enjoy dramatic entrances. He enjoys coming last in everything except competitions, in his own words.” They both shared a moment of silence before smiling, Victor chuckling as Yuuri breathed out in a sigh.

“Sounds like Chris.”

They lapsed into idle commentary on the buildings they passed, naming flags that weren’t identified, though most were. “Have you seen the orange bikes?” Victor asked at one point. “The Dutch Olympic Committee brought them in for their athletes.”

“Really? Do you think they’ll let us borrow one?”

Victor laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “We can always ask! How did Japan’s Olympic Committee end up decorating your house?”

Yuuri, true to form, hadn’t paid enough attention to say. He scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “I didn’t really notice anything more than the quilts and the flags on the balconies. What about you?”

Victor smiled, shrugging in turn. “Nothing noteworthy, really.”

They found the giant fountain, learning in short order it did in fact already have its water show features on, though for a test run it turned out. They watched half of the show it went through before it abruptly stopped, an older woman wading into the fountain pool and working on adjustments to some of the underwater equipment.

“This is your second Olympics, isn’t it?” 

“Mm, yes. Would have been my third, but they decided to send more experiences skaters to the 2010 Olympics.” Victor didn’t appear to mind, though Yuuri remembered the chatter there’d been online at the time. “With any luck, I’ll manage to make the 2018 Olympics too. Wouldn’t that be something?”

He smiled at Yuuri, who smiled back without much thought. “I want to see you there,” he said, feeling warm at the thought. “It seems arrogant to talk about another Olympics when I haven’t even made it through this one, but… I’d like to see that one too.” Perhaps to prove himself, depending on how things went here. In the back of his mind, he feared they’d go badly indeed, and Japan’s faith in him would be entirely misplaced. It wouldn’t be the first time Yuuri had given a lackluster performance at an international competition, but the way the whole world watched the Olympics carried a different level of stress than even the World Championships.

Victor leaned in, bumping his shoulder against Yuuri’s. “Not arrogant. We’re competing to be at the top of our sport. The Olympic’s is everyone’s dream, and I don’t doubt you’ll be able to see it twice before you retire.”

He felt better and worse, like he was borrowing some of Victor’s unfounded confidence in him and holding it close when he wasn’t meant to do so. Regardless of that, he nodded, giving Victor a small smile. “If you say so.”

They headed back to the Olympic Village, Victor taking him on a detour so they’d have a sense of where the different represented nations were homed. Their wanderings led them across a set of the Olympic Rings in front of the Czech Republic’s house, currently with no one standing in front of them. Victor stopped, tapping a gloved finger against his chin. Yuuri _knew_ what he was going to say before the words even formed. He tried to hide his grin behind his hand, miming a yawn, when it turned out he was right.

“Yuuri, we should take a selfie—are you yawning? Or smiling?” Victor stepped closer, pushing down on Yuuri’s upraised hand to be met by a sheepish grin. “Yuuri! Am I getting that predictable?”

“Only off the ice,” Yuuri said, offering reassurance, even daring to reach out and pat Victor’s shoulder consolingly. “To answer your question, yes, why not? There’s nothing saying we can’t, so that should be fine.” 

There was also no reason to believe they’d be able to get a decent view of the rings with a selfie, but he didn’t feel like pointing that out. 

Victor flashed him a genuine smile, turning back to the rings and hailing down one of the Czech athletes hanging out near their front door, talking with another athlete. “Hello! Would you take a picture of us?”

“Yes, okay! Tell when ready.”

Yuuri followed Victor over to the rings, turning around and facing the Czech athlete from where he stood in front. He heard Victor clear his throat, turning his head to catch sight of him sitting _inside_ the yellow ring.

“Victor! What are you doing?!”

“Taking a photo for memories! Come, Yuuri, there’s room for you too!”

Staring at Victor and his beaming, unapologetically mischievious expression, Yuuri tried to decide if he was mad or not. Honestly, he wasn’t; he didn’t doubt that all different athletes would be doing the same over the course of a little more than two weeks that the games ran. What did it harm? Sitting next to Victor Nikiforov, reigning World Champion, in a golden—okay, _yellow_ —ring?

His cheeks were heated as he grumbled and hefted himself up next to Victor, having to turn around in awkward, halting motions until he was properly seated, facing forward. Victor slung a companionable arm over his shoulders, pressing his head against Yuuri’s while he made a v for victory with his other hand. Yuuri held back a fond sigh, about to hold up his hand when the Czech athlete called out, “Okay! Is ready!”

“Huh?”

Victor’s camera was pointed right at them, Yuuri understanding with a sinking feeling that his confused look was what the phone had just captured. “Wait! Can you take one more?”

Their impromptu cameraperson looked over the top of the phone, lifting their eyebrows. “Okay. Ready now?”

Yuuri smiled, mimicking Victor’s v for victory with one hand. “Yes!”

The phone moved up to cover the athlete’s eyes again, lowered after a few presses of a button. “All good! Nice photos you’ll like.” They held out the camera as Victor gave Yuuri’s shoulders a squeeze before extricating himself, half sliding, half jumping down to the ground. In two long strides he was taking his phone back, offering a bright smile and a, “Thank you!” Victor held out his free hand. “Victor Nikiforov.”

“Jakub Koudelka. Which sport?” 

“Figure skating,” Victor said, keeping the handshake brief. Yuuri stepped up to his side, nodding his head to Jakub in a shallow sort of bow. 

“Yuuri Katsuki. Thank you for taking the photograph again.”

Jakub smiled and laughed, stepping forward to give Yuuri’s shoulder a firm pat. “No problem! You also in figure skating? I do ice hockey. Bet you can both outskate me, huh?” He grinned, seeming to not expect a reply. Yuuri only nodded to confirm he, too, was a figure skater.

“Good luck with your games, Jakub. Who’re you playing against first?”

“Sweden. Should be a good game. We’re all looking forward to it. When do you take the ice?”

“The thirteenth and fourteenth. After that, we’ll be back to watching everyone else, then there’s a gala exhibition on the twenty-second.”

“Ah, good! Then you should both come watch our first game, we play on the twelfth.” He winked, giving them another broad smile. “You keep each other good company until then, yes? It’s good, so many people from different nations making good friendships in a place like this.” Digging into his pocket, he withdrew his hand and offered it over to Victor. Victor held out his palm, polite, only to have Jakub drop something into it. He held his hand out to Yuuri next, Yuuri hesitating before following Victor’s lead.

Victor looked down at his hand, nodding his head and tucking whatever it was away in his pocket. “Thank you for the thought! We’ll see what we can manage between training sessions. You’re paying in which building?”

“The Bolshoy Ice Dome. Time should be up online, or posted over at the arena. See you there, Victor and Yuuri!”

Yuuri lifted his hand to wave, closing his fingers around the red foil packet he’d been given. Once Jakub was out of earshot, he turned to look at Victor, expression deadpan. “Victor, did that man just give us condoms?”

Victor smiled, reaching out to touch Yuuri’s arm before starting back down the pathway. “Sure did.”

Yuuri turned to follow after him, opening his fingers to stare down at the condom package. He turned it over, finally reading the only printed text. _Love condom._ “You know, I’d read the articles before, but I didn’t think this really happened.”

Victor shot him a sidelong look. “What, sex at the Olympics?”

“No!” Yuuri frowned, shooting Victor a mutinous look. “People just handing condoms out! It reminds me of campus sex education things, that’s all.” Yuuri held the condom out to Victor with a sigh. “Want it?”

Now Victor _really_ gave him a look. “Not particularly, but if you want me to pass that one off to Chris too, I’m happy to oblige.” He paused, looking forward again. For a few steps, Yuuri thought he’d get away with them both not talking about the subject at hand.

His luck didn’t hold out. “Are you just not interested in…?”

“No comment.”

“Yet you think I am?”

Yuuri blinked, hunching his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he admitted, but years of gossip columns and theories about Victor Nikiforov and his potential love conquests flitted through the back of his mind. “But you’re… you. You’re amazing, and confident, and who wouldn’t want you?”

He changed a look at Victor, seeing his look of mute surprise and reddened cheeks. He couldn’t possibly be blushing. Especially not when he frowned, looking forward and away from Yuuri, clearing his throat. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Yuuri, but I’m not all that fond of random hook-ups and casual lovers. At least not anymore. I want something that lasts.”

He seemed to stress that last part. Yuuri frowned, studying the ground. What was Victor trying to say with that? Telling Yuuri that he was looking for what? A dedicated relationship? He could hardly mean with Yuuri. “I didn’t think you were…” He cut himself off from saying anything more, sighing, and shoved the condom into his pocket. “What makes you so sure he’ll even want them?”

“Nicola’s coming along.”

Yuuri considered that statement, lifting his eyes to study the buildings they were passing by. “Ah.” He paused, not much for gossip, but feeling like there was something… he should know, or at least care about, with regards to Chris. They were friends, weren’t they? “He seems happy around him,” he settled on saying at last, keeping his hands in his pockets.

Victor didn’t answer right away, making a neutral noise in the back of his throat. “Chris still sees the ice first,” he said. “Nicola understands that. I don’t think that’s going to change until Chris is ready to retire, and even then, it’s like with most of us. We never really leave the ice.”

Victor fell silent, Yuuri unsure what, if anything, there was to say. In the end, he just stayed quiet. Victor eventually picked their conversation back up with gentle commentary on the particularly strange lawn ornament built in front of one of the nation houses, looking all the world like a squat mud gnome.

“Do you think it’s cursed?”

Yuuri snorted, lifting an eyebrow. “I think it’s none of our business.”

“Yuuri, what if it’s cursed!” Victor tried not to grin, but the sparkle in his eyes gave away the inherent playfulness of his words. “How do you appease a mud gnome?”

“Bathe.”

Victor’s spontaneous laughter left Yuuri feeling warm well up to when he finally hit bed, ready to sleep that night.

* * *

Life got busy again as they were all given practice schedule sessions for on the ice after the Opening Ceremonies were over. Yuuri had been both excited and overwhelmed by the sheer volume of _people_ involved in the process of kicking off the Winter Olympics, thankful that he hadn’t needed to worry about anything like carrying the flag for their country. Walking with the rest of Team Japan around a portion of the arena as each participating country was introduced had also been an exercise in patience.

He was glad when it was all done.

Celestino was right on hand to encourage him and check on his training progress, early to the practice rink during the scheduled sessions Yuuri participated in. He caught most his evening meals with other members of Team Japan, or Victor, or Chris, depending on who was available at the time, but he kept himself oriented toward his goal to not get sidetracked.

Soon enough, it was the day for men’s singles short program. Yuuri was hardly able to clear his mind of unhelpful thoughts as he practiced part of his step sequences on the ice. He couldn’t shake his nerves, no matter what he was doing: he was here, he was going to let down Japan, he was going to leave it all to Kazumi to ensure Japan’s male figure skaters weren’t summarily dismissed on the world stage.

He shuddered as he stepped off the ice, pulling his skate guards on and shoving his arms into his Team Japan jacket, as if clutching it tight would help him ward off what was only in his own mind.

“You cold?”

Chris had his jacket draped over a shoulder, his water bottle in hand, top closed. He wiped the back of his wrist over the corner of his mouth, catching a few stray droplets.

“Something like that.” Nervous, anxious, cold as far as confidence went, so sure. He was cold.

“Huh.” Chris stepped closer, tucking his water bottle between his thighs. While Yuuri was still watching him, unsure what his friend and fellow competitor was aiming to _do_ , Chris slung his Team Switzerland jacket off his shoulder and threw it over Yuuri’s. “There.” He grinned, pulling the sides of the collar close under Yuuri’s chin. “Warming up after the warm-up! We can’t have a sick competitor, it’d make my win on my birthday less challenging if you weren’t there.”

“Chris, are you trying to seduce away one of Japan’s skaters to the Swiss team? I’m not sure that’s legal at this point.” Victor joined them, looking at ease and confident. Yuuri deeply envied him in that moment.

“No, no, I’m just trying to keep the competition up until I’m satisfied.” He winked, Victor raising an eyebrow and looking to Yuuri for clarification.

Yuuri shrugged, hands up and holding onto Chris’s jacket half in protest, half because he had no idea what else to do.

“Ah, well, if it’s for Yuuri’s continued health...” Victor proceeded to shrug out of _his_ Team Russia jacket, likewise flinging it over Yuuri’s shoulders to his distressed, “Not you too!”

Victor smiled, Chris grinned, and Yuuri frowned at them both. “Great,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Since when did I get relegated to being a coat rack? I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Of course not, but Yuuri,” Victor said, leaning in and winking. “Red looks good on you.”

Yuuri swallowed, eyes widening a little from their narrowed slits. “My team jacket already has red on it, Victor.”

Victor smiled back, eyes alive with good humour and something Yuuri couldn’t name. “I know.”

He ended up marching into the bright sunny day waiting outside wearing three different country’s Olympic Jackets, though thankfully not the puffy, down feather one that was part of Team Russia’s official gear. Chris and Victor trailed after, catching up and bumping shoulders with him from either side.

“Serves you right if I make off with both your jackets and sell them to your fans for a profit later on.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“... No,” Yuuri said, looking skyward. “But right now, it’s tempting.”

* * *

Yuuri eventually managed to shrug out of all extra layers, tossing jackets back to proper owners as they all headed over to the competition rink. The building was striking from the outside, all those curving lines and the blues and whites patterned across the outside surface. 

Inside was also lovely, designed for public, press, and largely event staff areas as well as dedicated media rooms, plenty of bathrooms, and of course, stadium seating. He knew short race speed skating was happening in this venue as well, with some kind of impressive time change between the ice used by the figure skaters and what the short speed racers needed, but he had no idea about the particulars.

“Yuuri, let’s stay loose and focused. It was random pull for the order of skaters, I know you don’t want to be on first, but it’s what we have.”

Yuuri was having trouble breathing, mostly by breathing too fast. When he focused on slowing his breathing down, he couldn’t block out the sound of blood rushing through his ears even louder than the music that’d been playing on his headphones.

“How long?”

“Half an hour before the six minute warm-up for the skaters in your session.”

Yuuri nodded, the motion jerky, then stood up and turned down the hall. He couldn’t stay still, needed to find some peace in movement. Picking up to a jog, he concentrated on counting steps to the end of the hall, switching tracks to some of his favourite classical.

Listening to the sweep of music, the crescendos and diminuendos, jogging and pausing to stretch himself out with the world blocked out of his head helped him regain more of a sense of control over his thoughts and feelings. The pressure was still there, making itself known, but he was able to breathe through it, able to feel his body respond to each stretch he made.

He would go out there. He would do his best. He’d stay focused, and he’d let himself break down after, relieve the stress however he needed. Right now he had a pretty good idea that might involve crying, but that was fine. It wouldn’t be the first time, and was unlikely to be the last.

He jogged back up the hall, sitting down to lace into his boots with the music still playing in his ears. Five minutes to warm his boots up before he was in the warm-up skate, and then it was his time on the ice.

Yuuri finished lacing his skates, pushing up to his feet, and stuffing his headphones away into his skate bag. 

“Ready?”

“No,” he said, expression set. “But this is about as close as I’ll ever be.”

* * *

He couldn’t have told anyone what was going through his head after his short program ended. He could barely remember even as he was stepping off the ice, grimacing over the one fall he’d had. It wasn’t enough to break his performance, but if he hadn’t managed to recover, being thrown off his energy would have been enough to sink the whole of his performance. It’d been a near thing, and he had no idea what he’d done to rally and focus and keep himself from stumbling through what came next. 

He still had to walk away after, getting through an interview with a Japanese reporter on route memory instead of any really new material. His scores were decent, especially when he hadn’t skated his short program to the best of his abilities, but he knew there were better skaters here. There were Victor and Chris at the least, and he wasn’t going to underestimate any of the other athletes present. He’d have to be arrogant to do that, and arrogance relied on a core confidence Yuuri simply lacked.

He rubbed his face, dressed back in his warm-up clothes and runners. Per Celestino, he didn’t have any other pressing duties for the day, meaning he was free to allow himself to unwind as much as he could in preparation for tomorrow.

With the freedom to simply leave while the other twenty-nine skaters went through their short programs, Yuuri headed off at a jog, listening to his music. There were levels in his mobage game he could grind for a while to unwind. It sounded like a pleasant enough way to pass the time before he rallied to his next meal. Besides, the internet was functional in the houses now. He could always watch Chris and Victor’s skating there, if he wanted to see it close to real time.

* * *

“I still can’t believe you watched replays of our skating on YouTube when you could have been right there.” Chris found it outright hilarious, having said so several times since he learned about it late the night before. Neither of them had been offended, though Yuuri had a sneaking suspicion that Victor was sending concerned glances his way. He grimaced, taking another long pull of water from his water bottle.

He didn’t need to discuss how bad his anxiety had been yesterday. It wasn’t the point of anything he did, and it wasn’t new. The pressure had weighed more heavily on him, and he’d found a way to handle it by shutting out what he could.

Those were irrelevant details for anyone other than himself and his coach, so he shrugged, offering Chris a wan smile. “It’s where I watched all the rest of the opening ceremony that we didn’t see. The fireworks looked extra impressive from five different long shot camera lenses.”

Chris laughed, shrugging at Yuuri’s upbeat delivery. “Sounds like it’s worth watching the whole what, two, three hours of it?”

Yuuri wrinkled his nose, setting his water bottle down and pushing off the boards. It was their scheduled warm up before their free skates, though unlike yesterday, Yuuri didn’t have to worry about going first. In spite of his concerns, he’d managed to come in fourth after everyone’s short program.

His nerves were steadier than the day before, feeling more calm under the immense pressure than before. He knew he would make it or lose any chance at the podium here in the free skate, earning or losing the chance for his country to take home another medal after the bronze four years earlier.

With the warm-up over, Yuuri put his headphones back on, taking off his skates and focusing on stretching out his hamstrings, then his back. When he could shake the last of the aches out, feeling more thoroughly warmed up, he sat down and laced himself back into his skates, checking them twice.

He smiled, rubbing his thumb over the black laces. There were enough things outside of his control, even when checking things over time and again. It was good to realise that, just as it was good to realise that in the end, most of what he could try to take control of was within his own head, or expressed through his body.

Celestino talked him through his program, a steady stream of noise he largely ignored, but appreciated nonetheless. It was calming having Celestino talk at him, and some of what he said made sense in a way Yuuri could use; he nodded, staring straight ahead at the ice. He watched the man skating before him fumble the landing on his triple axel, but recover his flow and succeed in finishing out his program without any larger mishaps. 

Yuuri licked his lips, breathing in nice and slow, then out at the same speed.

It was time. Striding forward, he stepped onto the ice with the skate already stripped of its guard, lifting his foot to pull the second one off and hand over to Celestino without so much as a glance. While flowers and stuffed animals littered the outskirts of the ice, Yuuri cut inward, avoiding the audience’s largess as well as the flowergirls and flowerboys skating around picking up everything with hands and baskets and even plastic bags.

He tuned it out, spontaneously going into his favourite part of his step sequence that season, slowing into his ending spin combination, then coming out again just to skate and stretch his legs out, getting a feel for himself. The ice was clear of obstacles after a few minutes, Yuuri hearing his name formally announced over the loudspeakers.

He took one more circuit of the rink before cutting to the off-center starting position he preferred for his free skate, facing the judges. Cocking his hip, toepick jammed into the ice, hand pressed to his forehead, and chin tucked in tight to his chest, Yuuri waited for the music to start.

He skated well aware of how many people were watching, driving himself forward while holding onto the core ideal of his season. _Overcome._ Overcome his limitations, overcome what he could of his own mental weakness. Overcome the gaps between him and the more consistent top figure skaters in the world.

He was bridging those gaps, and as he flew through his program, movements almost violently crisp, a match for the music if not the tempo, he went from a man fighting against everything in his path to a man whose movements smoothed with the orchestral piece, retaining that core determination while finding a beauty and grace to carry forward.

He enjoyed this song and his choreography, sinking into it and echoing back all his concerns and frustrations with himself and the pressure of the Olympics, of representing Japan on a stage that seemed to mean even more than the World Championships because it came around less often.

Yuuri skated his heart out, ending with an arm thrown back, chest pushed out pose, face uplifted to the ceiling. He held pose for a few seconds after the music had stopped, then bent forward, bracing against his knees. He felt more tired than he should considering his general endurance levels, even on worse sleep than he’d been getting in Sochi. Still, exhausted or otherwise, he didn’t feel horrible about how he’d skated. 

He managed a smile for the judges and audience as he bowed, turning to each sector and ending facing where he was skating away to the boards.

He’d done the best he could manage right now. Not the best he could manage overall, and not his best ever, which was disappointing, but better than he thought yesterday. 

It was something of a balm to hear he was temporarily in first place. There was a chance, albeit not one he’d want to bet on, that the skater currently in second might score below Yuuri or what he projected Chris would merit, with this judging panel.

A chance, but a disappointing one at that.

* * *

Yuuri revised that opinion later, after watching the second place skater from the short programs simply have a strong program with not enough base value and GOE to push him ahead of Yuuri. The fact Yuuri could still outperform someone else who was skating strongly was a balm he hadn’t known he needed, as if to prove to himself his skating wasn’t a fluke, that he wasn’t going to have a chance at the podium just because someone else had terrible luck.

He watched both Chris and Victor skate from the sectioned off seating held for the athletes, allowing himself to be as much of a spectator as he ever was anymore. Shutting off the part of his mind that calculated scores, evaluated possible over or under rotations, critiqued levels of step sequences and spins was next to impossible, but he could dial it down.

Especially when watching Victor. There was something enchanting in how Victor told his story on the ice, making it easier for Yuuri to enjoy as a spectator, instead of dissecting everything he saw.

Artistry mattered. They all knew it, and he’d known it even before he’d decided he wanted to compete internationally. Watching Victor reminded him why he’d been so inspired to push harder, to create emotion with his skating alone, communicating what he felt to an audience. When done well, it was mesmerising.

The end results took him by surprise. Not for the gold, which Victor took, as Yuuri had figured he would in well deserved fashion. The surprise was that Yuuri had eked out the silver from under Chris by a narrow margin of two points. Chris had the stronger skate the day before, but Yuuri’s free skate had managed to bridge that point gap and give him the lead.

He couldn’t believe it. No, it wasn’t gold, and Japan still hadn’t won gold in men’s figure skating at the Olympics, but it was a silver.

Yuuri had managed to bring home Japan’s first silver medal in men’s figure skating, and for once, even he was proud of something he’d achieved beyond all shadows of any doubt.

* * *

Yuuri was about hitting his limit of socialising in the common area of the Japanese House when he saw a notification from WhatsApp blinking on his phone. A quick check revealed it was from Victor, and not on the chat shared with Chris, which was where they’d been coordinating most their sporadic meal meet-ups.

_Olympic Silver Medalist Katsuki Yuuri, feel like helping me run interference with our Olympic Bronze Medalist friend while Team Switzerland works with Nicola to set up a birthday celebration for him?_

He raised his eyebrows, thinking back—was it Chris’s birthday?!—while sending off a quick reply.

_Yes, of course, what can I do to help? It’s his birthday? I don’t have any gift for him, what does he like? What can we even find here? I thought he was joking when he mentioned it earlier!_

He started making his goodbyes, heading up to his shared room to pick up his jacket.

_We’re keeping him busy until Nicola’s back with the cake. Don’t worry about gifts! It slipped my mind, these are usually things people set up for their own birthdays around here._

They exchanged location information, Yuuri heading out at a light jog. When he caught up to Victor, Chris was already there, lifting a hand to wave as he finished whatever conversation the two of them were having.

“Hello! We’re all gathered now, so what’s next?”

Victor shrugged, nodding his head to the side to indicate a direction for them to move. “I heard there’s decent wine in the Olympic Village behind us.”

Chris quirked up his eyebrows, leaning in toward Yuuri. “He wouldn’t tell me what this was about before until you got here, you know. How about champagne?”

“We’ll have to find out!”

Victor eschewed using a map, instead relying on asking people they passed by in combinations of English, charades, French, and Russian, to end up pointed in the right direction. They were invited into two different nation’s houses to celebrate, not for any particular reason, and skirted around at least two amorous couples who couldn’t be bothered to find a more private location to pursue their affections.

Yuuri really wished they would, pointedly looking away and asking Chris how busy their common room stayed each night.

“About as busy as everywhere else, I imagine. Did you know I ended up being the only one in my room? The second bed disappeared down the hall with the curlers.” He laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “ _I’m_ not complaining. It’s been easier to sleep on those hideously short, narrow beds without someone else bumbling around at odd hours of the night.”

Yuuri smiled, closing his eyes. “The beds aren’t so bad.”

Victor and Chris both shot him a look. “You’re not _that_ short.”

“I don’t know, if you curl up on your side just enough you can keep most everything on the bed…”

Yuuri laughed at the look on Chris’s face, Victor harder to read. “I like to sprawl across my bed back home! Do you know what a disappointment this has been? Not that I think it’s much better for some of our coaches, friends, families, reporting news colleagues…”

“No plan ever comes together flawlessly. Ah, I think I see our destination!” Victor glanced back to Chris. “Champagne for the man with the birthday, wasn’t it?”

“Hah! Is that how you wish me a happy birthday, Victor? You already said it this morning, but I’m not objecting to birthday champagne.” Chris smiled, eyes half closed. “And I won’t share any of it with either of you, unless you ask nicely, and have your own glasses. Other than the ones you’re wearing,” he said, nodding toward Yuuri.

As luck would have it, there _was_ champagne on hand, and between Chris’s flirtations and Victor’s charm, they walked away with two bottles and a series of coffee mugs for drinking. Chris and Victor had already started in on the first bottle, Victor nursing his mug while Chris shoved the open bottle into Yuuri’s arms.

“Planning on joining us?” he asked with a laugh, lifting his mug for a cheer. Yuuri smiled, holding up the champagne bottle to clink it against Chris’ and Victor’s mugs in turn. 

“I’ll have a glass, why not.” He’d won silver, and he wasn’t going to drink so much that he’d go completely off rails, even if a good number of the athletes in the Olympic Village seemed bent on doing exactly that. He poured himself a half-mug from the bottle, raising it as Chris prompted for another cheers.

“To continued health! Good company! And getting a gold medal above both you two at Worlds.”

They all shared a smile equal parts friendly and competitive before drowning the rest of the champagne in their mugs.

Their way back to the Switzerland House was even more circuitous than the way out, Victor checking his phone on occasion, claiming his dog-sitter was sending him updates periodically on Makkachin. Which was true, he’d been getting them all week, along with photos of Makkachin from walks and feedings before the dog-sitter was out again. It just didn’t happen to be true right then.

After one of the dog-sitter “updates,” Victor reached out to take the half-full bottle of champagne from Yuuri’s arms, leaning in close enough to say, “He’s ready.” Yuuri nodded, letting Victor take charge of the bottle, relieved that their part in this was almost done.

It was fun, the kind of bubbling, ridiculous anticipation that fizzed in his veins like the champagne, and it was worth it for the expression on Chris’s face when the whole of the Switzerland House burst into a trilingual German, French, and English rendition of happy birthday, followed by the veritable sea of people parting to reveal Nicola standing with a cake balanced in one hand, and his own glass of sparkling wine in the other.

“Congratulations on winning bronze on your birthday,” he said, giving Chris a small, relaxed smile. “I’d like to propose a toast!”

Chris sauntered over, bringing his mug up to click it gently against Nicola’s glass. He glanced over his shoulder, looking the room over; Yuuri did as well, noting that everyone present held a glass or container of some kind, and all of them were held up, ready and waiting. Belatedly, Yuuri held up his own empty mug, Victor tapping his wrist for Yuuri to lower it again so he could pour some of the champagne for him, filling his own mug after.

Chris locked eyes with Nicola. “A toast, hm?”

“To life, love, and success on the ice. May you enjoy the fruits of labours for all three. _Santé!_ ”

“ _Santé_ ,” Chris said, Yuuri echoing, along with everyone else in the room. Victor tapped his mug against Yuuri’s, quirking a smile.

“Usually we’d tap everyone’s glass, or so Chris has said in the past. I don’t think we’ll be managing that here.”

“It might be asking for a bit much,” Yuuri agreed, offering a half-smile in return, before the mess of everyone present started tapping glasses together with everyone they found in range, calls of _santé_ and _prost_ coming from all corners of the crowded entryway, hall, and sprawling living space. Each person who did so seemed intent on making and holding eye-contact, glasses all on the same level, and he tried to follow suit.

By the time all the toasting seemed complete, Chris and Nicola tipped back their glasses, the cue the rest had waited for. “ _Kanpai,_ ” Yuuri added under his breath, draining the small amount of champagne Victor had poured into his mug in one large gulp.

The chocolate covered cake wasn’t enough for everyone, but Chris took the initiative using a bread knife someone unearthed to cut it into small squares, giving most everyone a chance to take a fingerful and taste the chocolate-marshmallow like confection. Nicola and Chris made the rounds, offloading the bite-sized morsels, congratulations and good wishes of increasingly more ludicrous things given in turn. Yuuri heard someone saying in English that Chris’s cat should produce the most pleasant hairballs the next year, whatever that was supposed to mean.

People’s English ranged from fairly fluent to non-existent, though most didn’t find that a barrier even if it turned into a series of hand motions, grins, and nods of the head that Yuuri pretended made sense to him. Victor fared better, speaking French intermittently, though he stayed close to Yuuri for most his socialising, attempting to speak mostly English.

He hadn’t seen Chris for a while when Yuuri hit his upper limit, pleasantly tipsy and longing to get back out into the night air, away from unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar language. Going back to his country’s house was the most comforting plan; at least he’d know the language.

“I’m heading out,” he said, touching Victor’s arm to draw his attention. Victor nodded, holding up a hand as he said something in French that Yuuri guessed might have been goodbye.

“Good idea. I think Chris retired for the night already.” Victor headed for the door, Yuuri catching up with and overtaking him.

“You don’t need to come with me,” he said, finding the door handle and pushing out onto the front stoop. The relief of cooler outside air compared to the warmth of the building’s interior was almost immediate. Yuuri breathed more easily right away.

“I’m where I want to be, Yuuri. When have you ever seen me do something I didn’t want to do?”

Heading down the stairs, Yuuri considered the rhetorical question, answering as the sound of celebrating behind them was dulled with the closing door. “Wouldn’t that involve listening to what other people are telling you that you _should_ do?” He flashed Victor a lazy grin, perking up away from the celebration. He didn’t mind drinking in social groups, but keeping track of the social etiquette was difficult even when he knew what to expect. Being away from it and cutting that worry free was liberating in a way he’d forgotten.

“Mm, you know, it probably would. I do listen to what other people say, though, Yuuri. I’m picky about what advice I choose to follow.” Victor could cooperate when he wanted, Yuuri had seen evidence of that, but he was also stubborn enough following his own path. It’d made him brilliant and also something of a headache to the Russian Skating Federation when he was younger, before he’d established himself as a consistent winner, earning Russia respect and glory on the world stage.

“Fair. I’m picky about advice too.” Celestino could testify to that, and to Yuuri’s stubborn dislike of negotiating to take things easier on himself. He wanted to win, and he wanted to put his all into every single time he tried. Yuuri didn’t see the point doing otherwise, barring any undue cost to himself.

Undue cost, on the other hand, had a sliding scale of personal applicability.

Victor hummed under his breath, hands sliding into his coat pockets. “I’ve noticed,” he said, an offhand statement as he looked sideways to Yuuri. “Even if it’s been a while since we were working on anything together.”

“I don’t know that I ever said thank you enough for helping me figure out form with my quad salchow. I don’t know why it just wasn’t clicking when I was working with Celestino.”

“Sometimes that’s just how it goes. In the end, you had to feel when it was right, and I don’t think that’s unusual. Even Yakov says so in his shouting. He’s a good coach.” Victor smiled, expression growing fond. “Much as I don’t really listen to him like he wishes I would.”

Whereas Yuuri probably listened too much, or didn’t push back enough. He wasn’t sure. Celestino seemed at times both at odds or disappointed with what Yuuri did or didn’t say.

He sighed, pushing those disquieting thoughts away. Celestino was a good coach. He’d helped Yuuri, smoothing out his transition into the senior’s division, and working with him to push his abilities forward. That Yuuri had also sought outside sources for fine tuning and further progress had been his decision. A decision he didn’t regret.

“Thank you, Victor.” Walking side by side, staring up at the expanse of dark sky overhead, Yuuri allowed himself a small, shy smile. 

“Mm, I don’t feel I did all that much, but you’re welcome.” Victor fell silent, keeping pace and watching Yuuri from the corner of his eye. Yuuri could tell; he didn’t mind. He didn’t feel like he was being judged so much as watched while Victor turned thoughts over in his mind. For all he’d seen just how whimsical Victor could be, he’d also seen how considering he was. Considerate, too, to his fans, and to his competitors. He was probably least considerate to his coach, and not with ill will or intention. How considerate was he to himself?

“What are you aiming after in figure skating, Yuuri? What drives you to compete?”

He was caught off guard, though unsure why. He’d been asked that so often in his life for interviews, and his ready answer had always been simple. “I want to continue improving myself and proving to myself and my supporters that I can achieve something noteworthy on the ice?”

Victor turned his head to Yuuri. “Why did you leave that as a question?” 

“I…” Yuuri closed his mouth, pursing his lips. Part of the reason he’d driven himself so hard was tied into Victor, but he’d never quite said so. It was also tied into Yuuri’s personality, his drive for perfection, the way he hated to lose, the freedom he found in expressing himself on the ice. In all the languages he knew, it was the one he felt most comfortable using, most honest about himself within. “There’s a dream I’ve been chasing after. A star I want to catch up to, I guess, to be in orbit around for as long as I can.”

Victor’s expression was neutral, but his eyes were intense, listening to what Yuuri said. “Poetic,” Victor said absently, a quiet sort of admission. “Even after winning silver at the Olympics, are you still chasing after that dream?”

Yuuri came to a stop, turning to face Victor. His friend stopped as well, a step and a half in front of him, turning around to face him in turn. The corner of Victor’s mouth pulled down into a frown, his brow furrowed with a hint of concern where a moment before there’d been curiosity.

“Yes.”

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri stared at Victor, holding his gaze in the dim space between two streetlights. “I’m still chasing after you.”

He wished he could blame the alcohol, but he hadn’t had enough; as he watched Victor watching him, he saw the moment Victor understood, eyes widening a fracture, lips parting as he breathed out in a quiet _oh_. Yuuri didn’t let himself look away, desperately hoping this wasn’t sinking their friendship, that he wasn’t alienating Victor in saying what he had.

Victor held himself oddly, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. It was so incongruous for the man who handled his fans with such grace, who could play an interview the way he liked after years of jumping through the same hoops Yuuri had learned to move through in his own time. He wanted to apologise. He wanted to run away. He almost did both, but keeping himself rooted in place meant biting down on his tongue, and so in the end he did neither.

“Don’t stop there, Yuuri.” Victor’s voice was quieter than Yuuri expected, his expression warmer, for all he didn’t move closer or further away. “Catch up to me, then pull ahead. You can. I know you can, and Yuuri… there’s nothing I want to see more.”

It felt like a promise and a challenge all at once. Yuuri’s heart clenched, even skipped a beat at Victor’s smile. He swallowed, throat dry, and nodded.

“Okay.”

It was all they said before they began walking again by mutual, quiet agreement, the silence fraught with a tension it’d never had before. Not one that left Yuuri on edge so much as _tingling_. 

He didn’t know how much he believed in himself. The foundations in his own mind were too rocky, at times, to be trusted. Yet he’d been learning over the years to trust Victor’s judgement. If Victor said he could do it, then he’d believe in Victor, while Victor believed in him. Yuuri already did for so many other things. Why not this, too?

* * *

The rest of Yuuri’s time at the Olympics either flew past at light speed, or moved achingly slow on the nights where he tried to exhaust himself enough to pass out by playing mobage games with his headphones on. He and Victor had dragged a hungover Chris to one of the Czech Republic games the morning after his birthday celebration; it’d ended up being against the Switzerland Team, leaving Yuuri cheering for both sides, Victor opting to cheer for the Czech Republic, and Chris nursing bottled water and cheering on his countrymen.

Switzerland won, though for most the game Yuuri watched in pleasant confusion, caught up in the energy of the filled stadium as all sorts of calls were made that varied between obvious even to him to outright impossible for him to pretend he understood.

It was fun. He’d never watched an ice hockey game like that before, didn’t know if he would again, but the opportunity had been there and not wasted.

Celestino helped him figure out his schedule for meeting with reporters and filming a fifteen second short for play in Japan while the Olympics continued to run, in a hope to boost views for the gala exhibition and the eventual closing ceremonies. 

Rehearsals for the gala exhibition went well, Yuuri surprised to be asked to do pseudo-lifts for a portion of it, particularly since he’d never really practiced pairs. They all had the same rundown, Victor surprisingly apt for a man known for his strong competitive career in singles. Then again, Yuuri turned out to be fairly adept too, largely because he didn’t want to end up falling and bringing anyone else down with him, but if stubborn refusal would get him through, so be it.

The gala itself went off with more lighthearted comraderie than he’d expected, especially at the end of the exhibition when all the skaters were on the ice performing together. The only hiccup came after the first partner switch: the ladies skater Yuuri turned to in order to begin the waltzing sequence they’d all practiced had turned away from him to take up the hands of another ladies singles skater. In turn, she flashed Yuuri a smile and a wink, and Yuuri was left gaping before another hand came up under his outstretched one; Victor, flashing him an easy smile.

Yuuri shrugged, taking hold of Victor’s hand and leading him into the pseudo-waltz as if this wasn’t all off script. Spinning round and round before they broke apart, Victor turned under Yuuri’s arm and was left to spin on his own, before being caught back up in Yuuri’s arms. He was laughing, barely able to hold it in because of everything to go wrong, but why try to not laugh?

Especially when it was actually fun?

They smoothly reintegrated into the next section of choreography, finishing out the rest as planned. Under the colourful lights, each Olympic medalist in every disciple, and a good number of those who’d come close to medaling, took their bows and gave their well wishes and congratulations and thanks to everyone supporting them, and to each other.

Before he knew it, the Closing Ceremonies had arrived, along with a new set of memes involving dancing on ice he chose to ignore. He still had worlds coming up, and the drive to do better and better, fueled by the very man who’d started him down the path to competing internationally in the first place.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming out of an Olympic season and into the next, everything seems like it's on course until an unexpected loss throws Yuuri's world into an immediate tailspin.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

Yuuri lifted an eyebrow, looking to Victor from the corner of his eye. He stayed facing forward, waiting for Chris to join them at the podium, giving the world a close-mouthed smile. He’d done better with his short program here at Worlds, but Chris hadn’t slacked off, and Victor had purposefully pushed his program to the limits to gain even more over Yuuri.

“On the podium? Victor, don’t tell me you’re planning on retiring next year.”

Victor paused, and for a moment, Yuuri had the horrifying thought that _maybe Victor would_. There wasn’t any logical reason to believe so, but logic had very little to do with the leaps his mind made.

“Hah, hardly. I’m still waiting for you to take the gold from me. Can’t be retiring before you’ve managed that, can I?”

Chris made it to the carpet before Yuuri responded, reaching his arms out to pull them into a hug, one by one.

“Congratulations, Chris,” Yuuri said, Chris chuckling by his ear, giving him an evaluating look.

“You’re going to have to step up to the next level for next season, Yuuri. Congratulations, but I’m planning on having you watching me from behind again soon.”

Yuuri smiled, nodding his head to Chris as he pulled away. “Good. I’m looking forward to you trying.”

They shared a smile, Chris turning to walk over to the last remaining step. It was a switch-up from the last year, and it felt good to be consistently managing his performances on ice, but it wasn’t where he wanted to stop. He didn’t want to be chasing Victor’s star for years, almost but never quite there. Not when Victor had challenged him to do better, to shoot beyond Victor himself.

Not when Victor said he believed in him, and Yuuri could borrow that belief to make good on his promise to himself, and to Victor.

Even at the press conference, when they were being asked about their plans for next year and he caught Victor and Chris’s gaze, all he could do was smile and say, “I think it’s what we all plan to do. Get back out there and give everyone the kinds of performances that push our abilities and showcase our love for the ice. I’m excited for next season, and I hope all of you will be too.”

* * *

Hitting the off season didn’t feel like hitting much of an off season at all. Ketty got back to him with a reworked demo CD, this time with a song fit for the full four minutes of a free skate. Listening to the piano, sometimes playing alone, sometimes joined and bolstered by violin, had him sitting up straight in his chair when he listened. Whatever he’d been lacking, what his career hadn’t been able to give Ketty to work with before, had changed over the course of the last season. What she’s created was perfect in a way he lacked words to describe; he sent her a thank you, profusely grateful, making Phichit listen to the track and being subjected to another round of _The King and the Skater_ for it.

He even sent a message to Victor, attaching the song file, nervous as he waited for his response.

_I don’t think I’ll be using this in the coming season, but let me know what you think of how this version sounds. This one feels right._

Victor didn’t get back to him until late that night, by the time he’d been up and moving around for a while back in St. Petersburg. It was a simple response, but reading it brought a smile to Yuuri’s face. He laughed, collapsing back on his bed. A tension he hadn’t realised he’d been holding bled out of him as he re-read Victor’s words.

_It’s perfect!_

The second message came later, presumably after Victor had listened to the song a few times, or as he handled whatever was happening to him in his life. 

_Are you planning on doing your own choreography for this song? If you’re not planning to use it for another season, that’s more than enough time to be working on fine-tuning it around your competitive programs._

Yuuri bit his lower lip, staring up at his phone as he held it in the air over his face. He rolled over, still staring at it, feeling like his heart was caught in the middle of a tug-of-war. He wanted to, yes, but he’d never done his own choreography. He’d modified and refined the ones that’d been worked out for him. Making one from scratch? Something that would fit the music, that would interpret the emotion of the music the way he wanted?

He closed his eyes after hitting play, listening to the song over his headphones and trying to imagine himself on the ice. There was something he could almost see, but not quite grasp… his eyes opened, frustration making him grimace.

_I don’t know. I’ve never tried before, and I don’t want to mess this up._

Victor’s reply wasn’t long in coming, saving Yuuri from an agonised eternity spent waiting.

_How about this? Give me a week to run through a few ideas, and I’ll get back to you with a basic mock-up of what might work. One of my younger rinkmates is already asking me to try and choreograph one of his programs for his senior debut, which would be the season after this next one. I haven’t started on anything for him, but if you don’t mind being an experiment in competitive program choreography for someone other than myself, I’d be happy to try._

Yuuri sat up, staring at his phone in one hand as he scrambled to reorient himself. It was too much, both as an offer and a possibility. He hadn’t been asking Victor for help, not _that_ degree of help. Still, how in the world was he going to say no?!

_Victor, that’s a wonderful offer, but I’m not even sure I can afford what you deserve to be paid for your work!_

That would hopefully be enough of a deterrent. None of them earned much outside of the shows, sponsorships, and relatively paltry winnings of their medaling competitions. Figure skating wasn’t a sport chosen because of high payouts in a financial sense.

_I said you’d be my experiment, didn’t I? Just promise me you’ll actually use this when you’re ready, and that’s enough for me. Even beat me with it. We can compose that kind of program for you, Yuuri, but it’s up to you._

Victor’s genorousity made no sense on one level, but on another… Yuuri remembered what he’d said in Sochi, as they both stood in the dim lighting on the sidewalks, talking about the future on ice. He remembered Victor joking that there was no way he’d be retiring before he saw Yuuri take gold, and even after, who knew? Victor would want long enough to prove himself that he could win it back.

Should he accept an offer that felt so far beyond his ability to ever pay back?

Yes. Because he _could_ try to pay Victor back the one way they both wanted; taking gold on the same ice as Victor, having skated their hearts out.

Mind made up, he tapped his response out to Victor.

_Okay. Yes, please do. I’ll make it worth your time, Victor, I promise._

He pulled his legs up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged waiting on Victor. Would he pull a just kidding? “Yuuri, you don’t believe I’d actually do this for nothing, right?” It was presumptuous of Yuuri to take him up on the offer, why in the world had he done so, Victor wasn’t going to talk to him again because Yuuri couldn’t even understand basic business precepts—

_Yes, you will. Like I said, give me a week, and then we can coordinate times to either send videos or live video-call when we’re both at our rinks! With this time difference, it should be possible._

He breathed out in a shaky sigh of laughing disbelief, giddy and happy and feeling over the moon even while a voice in the back of his mind said there was no way he’d be able to live up to whatever program Victor would create.

He shoved that voice to the side, sitting up playing video games that night until he could finally fall asleep.

* * *

Working out times where he could train with Celestino, take a few lessons with one of the jump specialist coaches at the Skate Club, and work with Victor across an ocean and several countries made for an eccentric schedule, to say the least. Yuuri’s off ice training was as packed as his on ice training, Celestino surprisingly accommodating for Yuuri’s scheduled sessions working with Victor. He called it a vanity project, but he said so fondly, taking that time to work one-on-one with Phichit during his rink time instead.

“What’s your theme this year?” Victor asked once Yuuri skated back to the boards, having done a half-time run through his second step sequence in Victor’s choreography.

“Ah, based on what Celestino and I picked out for this season’s programs? Kind of Rebirth, a rising from the ashes thing.”

Victor whistled, smiling at his phone. “Really? Sounds promising. You still won’t show me anything from your short or free skate?”

Yuuri shook his head, picking up his phone as he stepped past the boards and off the ice. “Nope. You’ll have to wait and see.” Once again, Yuuri held back from asking to see any of what Victor was working on. He figured it’d be a mutual surprise once the season kicked off in another month. “Can you run through that step sequence again? Something felt off, but…”

“It was the placement of your hands!” Victor was cheery as he confirmed Yuuri’s thoughts. “Pay attention to what I’m doing with mine this time, and then I’ll have you do another run through.”

“Got it.” Resettling his phone on a bleacher bench, Yuuri stretched himself out as he watched Victor go through the same step sequence Yuuri had just finished. Only this time, while closely watching Victor’s hands, he caught a glimpse of what he’d really been lacking. The emotion behind how Victor moved his hands, the sense of timing and placement.

Yuuri scooped his phone up, heading for the rink. Victor wasn’t back to his own phone yet, but Yuuri didn’t want to wait. As soon as Victor was ready to watch, Yuuri wanted to be back in motion. _Bringing_ that emotion to life, like only he could.

The rest of the off season flew by, Yuuri back in Japan just long enough to get through the announcements of his theme for the season and two different interviews looking for his input on what he expected with the upcoming season. He gave the answers that were true enough and approved by both his agent and coach; modest, but confident, two things Yuuri wasn’t sure he actually was. He certainly wasn’t arrogant, but modest felt like he’d have to have a different sense of self worth before he could be _modest_ over his achievements.

By default, he was reserved and polite, so perhaps it all counted as the same thing.

Neither of his seeded placements in the Grand Prix series were with Chris or Victor, the first time in a long time that Yuuri could remember going without much socialising, and not due to illness as had happened the season before. Victor texted him a selfie of himself and Makkachin, miming a _wow_ expression, in return for his first televised skate of the season at the Finlandia Trophy. His short program had been strong; his free skate left room for refinement.

Yuuri had returned the favour of a selfie when Victor skated in the Cup of Nice, borrowing one of Phichit’s hamsters, and actually, Phichit himself. The hamster had promptly decided to try eating Yuuri’s glasses, which had ended that little venture fairly soon.

His first Grand Prix Series competition was wobbly, Yuuri taking chances with his program that didn’t pay out when he touched down on three of his landings between both programs; he still pulled a bronze, but he was heavily unsatisfied with his performance. His second, once again the NHK Trophy, saw him take home gold with two stronger performances, still not at the level that Yuuri demanded from himself.

Regardless, he was one of the Finalists sent to the Grand Prix Final by points accumulated, Victor and Chris likewise competing, alongside Cao Bin from China, Michele Crispino from Italy, and Jean Jacques Leroy from Canada. He’d skated against Cao Bin before, but it was Jean Jacques and Michele’s first full season in seniors, both seeded in one event, and invited to another. They were promising young talents, both younger than Yuuri had been by the time he had his first skate in the Grand Prix Series.

Yuuri felt his head getting away from him the first day he was there while the juniors short programs ran through. He hadn’t been to Barcelona before, but both Chris and Victor’s appeals to join them in walking through parts of the town were met with a polite refusal. He needed to clear his head on his own, and after a few brief conversations with Celestino, he gave himself light training time in the complimentary facilities of the hotel, drowning out the white noise in his head with music.

He went to bed early, rose early, and hit the ice for his practice session with a set expression on his face the whole time. His first time facing both Chris and Victor in the season was here and now, and he refused to back down from the challenge they both presented. He’d been tracking their progress for months. They were incredibly strong contenders.

For the first time, he really felt he was a strong contender, too.

Yuuri rallied for the short program, pulling in a strong second barely a handful of points behind Victor. It was a point shy from being a new personal best score for his short program; he saw that as room for improvement before Four Continents, but almost acceptable now.

He relented to grabbing an early dinner with Victor, Chris, and Cao Bin, JJ having taken himself off with his girlfriend and Michele disappearing entirely. It made for a pleasant enough evening, everyone sticking to more plain cuisine with plenty of protein and jokes about the kinds of snacks they all ate before hitting the ice for competitions. 

Yuuri headed to his room for another early night, fully intending to get as much rest as he could convince his body to take before he woke up and tackled what he needed to in the morning.

* * *

Yuuri stared down at his phone, seeing the name light up on it with a picture of his sister’s almost bored looking face. Mari never called. Heart in his throat, Yuuri swiped his thumb across the green icon, answering the phone with a surprisingly steady hand.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Yuuri, this is Mari. Something’s happened to Vicchan.”

His vision narrowed, heart slowed to a stop as adrenaline and shock hit his system. Thousands of miles from home, two hours before he’d be stepping on the ice with his strongest free program to date, he learned from Mari that Vicchan had suffered from a heart attack and died in her arms at the veterinary office, in spite of their best efforts to stabilize his condition.

Yuuri ended the phone call, chest tight, eyes prickling with unshed tears. 

_I’m sorry, Yuuri, there wasn’t anything we could do._

He had to keep it together. He wouldn’t mar Vicchan’s memory by failing now that he’d made it this far, now that he stood at the first major international competition of a season where he had a fighting chance of taking podium. Of taking _gold_ , like he’d dreamed for years, chasing after Victor’s back. Then he’d face him heads on, and…

He didn’t know anymore. The order of events in his head had been messed up years ago, between Chris and his inclusion and Victor’s unexpected ease of company. What would he do when he took the podium above Victor? Treat him to _katsudon_ again, maybe. Or dinner. Confess how much of an inspiration Victor had been all his life properly, not just as a statement made in the night on the streets of the Olympic Village.

He didn’t feel inspired as he stepped on the ice for the warm-up practice session. He kept his Team Japan jacket on, brow furrowed, attention turned inward. A few people called out by him, the five other skaters exchanging words in passing as they got a feel for the ice or built up speed for a practice jump. A flash of black and red in front of him had Yuuri lifting his chin, catching Chris gliding backward by him. Their eyes met briefly. Chris winked and blew him a kiss.

Usually that would have made Yuuri smile, more amused than embarrassed. Chris was flirtatious as a matter of existence. It felt heavy and almost intrusive with his heart aching; Yuuri’s eyes dropped away and he pushed out with his legs, throwing himself into a quad salchow. He knew he was going to fall before he’d even finished his rotations, hitting the ice and skidding right into the boards. Flecks of shaved ice flew over him as he heard skates pull to a sharp stop, a flung out arm accompanying a deep, rich burgundy costume with gold highlights and a white undershirt. _Victor._

“Yuuri?” The _are you all right_ wasn’t spoken, but he heard it anyway, shoving himself back up to his feet and brushed ice off his leg and hip.

“I’m fine.” He was angry at himself, sad and angry that he was sad, launching himself forward again and trying to lose himself in the feel of forward motion. Twisting around and going into a crossover, Yuuri avoided looking back toward Victor. It was unlikely Victor had skated over _to_ Yuuri when Yuuri fell, meaning Yuuri’s fall had almost taken Victor out as well.

There were many things he couldn’t forgive himself for, but taking out his top competitor in an accident when his head was in a bad place ranked near the top. If Yuuri was going to screw himself over, that was one thing. He wasn’t allowed to take anyone else with him.

He tried a triple axel before the six minutes were up, failing to land that one too, but also not falling as hard. His hands stung faintly when he stepped off the ice, accepting his skate guards from Celestino without more than a clipped, “I’m fine,” in response to whatever he said. Yuuri didn’t really hear.

He was going second to last after his short program the day before had him leading Chris by ten points, trailing Victor by twenty. He could make up for that in his free skate if he adjusted, if he pushed himself, if, if, _if_.

He was bouncing his leg where he sat staring through the monitor showing the skaters going through their free skates. He startled violently when Celestino appeared at his side, holding out a water bottle and a hand towel.

“Time for us to head up toward the boards. Christophe’s near the end of his program.”

Yuuri needed to be there waiting. He closed his eyes, accepting the water bottle and shoving up to his feet, taking a small sip that he barely managed to choke down. His stomach was tied in knots, his head a mess of white noise and self-directed anger and conflicted everything else. He shrugged out of his jacket, passing it off to Celestino as they walked the padded hall leading up to the boards and entrance to the ice.

He lifted a foot, pulling one guard off his blade and letting his toepick rest against the floor, knee bent as he watched Chris pull into the end spin of his free skate. Between one blink and the next he found the door pulled back, himself ushered through as stuffed animals and flowers continued to rain down from the stadium seating. He turned back to hand his second skate guard to Celestino, eyes sliding away from his coach as the crowd’s applause petered out, Chris skating for the exit at the boards.

He felt something bop his head as he pushed away from the boards, picking a path through the strewn gifts from Chris’s fans. None of his hair even moved, slicked back as it was, but he found himself blinking as he snapped his arm out, catching the stuffed object after it bounced off his head. The round, cat-like stuffed animal had a long, fluffy tail; Yuuri stared at it uncomprehendingly, skating forward through the rest. When he hit the clear area further from the boards, he looked up, catching sight of Chris in passing.

“Chris!”

He held up his hand, pantomiming a toss. He should have just dropped it back in with the rest, but having accidentally caught it, his fractured state of mind said it’d be rude to drop it to the ice. If Chris didn’t hear him, then he’d toss it back toward the rest for the young skaters already out and picking everything up.

Chris heard, however, turning his way and lifting a hand in response. Yuuri tossed the cat plush his way, a faint memory wiggling to the front of his mind. _Chris has a cat._

_One he sees. One who doesn’t have to wait years for him to come home._

Chris caught the plush to the scattered applause of their audience, Yuuri turning his head away. He had the time before Chris’s scores were announced to try and find his equilibrium. No, he didn’t have Vicchan waiting in the same way anymore, but he could, he _would_ do his best for his memory. He had to do that much. He _had_ to.

Yet even as the music cued and Yuuri took up his position off-center to the left, facing the judges, his head was roaring, his heart a bird slamming against his ribcage, his stomach twisted and knotted and heavy. The ice felt too far away, the music sounded tinny and like it was playing through water, delayed as it made its way to his ears.

Yuuri skated. Every single jump, touching down on the ice, wiping out, landing on the wrong edge. His footwork was heartbreakingly perfect, the music coming back to him like it’d found a home in his heart and mind, reverberating through his bones as he entered a spin. He almost had it, he thought, but the temporary grasp he had on his skating collapsed under the next jump, his face growing more and more set in the self-directed anger and disappointment as he proved to the world, once and for all, that Katsuki Yuuri was not ready to be counted amoung the best of the best.

Jaw clenched, head bowed after he finished waving to the crowds in their stadium seating, he felt his disappointment course through him. He knew he could do better, that he wanted to do better, and he’d let his mental weakness take that away from him.

He sat like a man awaiting the news of a loved one after an accident, shoulders hunching and face dropping down into his hands as his scores were announced. He was in fifth place with Victor left to skate.

Yuuri had finished last with the lowest free skate score he’d had yet in seniors. 

He fell into a disconnected numbness after they left the kiss and cry, wiping his skates dry and exchanging them for his runners, zipping back into his jacket, pulling on his exercise pants. He felt a little better when he was bundled up, finding space on one of the benches littering the back halls of the venue, pulling his phone back out to study his notifications. Chris had sent him something; he felt guilty as he swiped the notification away. There was nothing new from Mari, and nothing new on Instagram. He had news apps, his thumb hovering over one of them in spite of knowing he shouldn’t.

His thumb pressed down, and Yuuri found himself disconnectedly surprised at the speed with which journalists were writing. “Has Katsuki Yuuri peaked at 22?,” “Katsuki Yuuri’s Surprising Performance at the Grand Prix Final,” “Crash and Burn: Is Katsuki Yuuri Injured?”

Broken hearts were an excuse, not a reason. 

Celestino was trying to cheer him up, or so Yuuri assumed, because he wasn’t listening. All he heard was the crash of his body against the ice, the angry thunder of blood through his ears, the sour taste of bile and disappointment at the back of his throat.

“Has Katsuki Yuuri peaked at 22?” It was a valid question, one he was pulled away from contemplating as Celestino more forcefully called his name.

“Yuuri, don’t read that nonsense! People have bad skates, it happens. You’ve been strong so far this season, you’ll be fine heading into the National Championship. Don’t let it get to you. The blogs say the same thing about everyone. Aren’t they projecting Victor Nikiforov is going to retire next year?” Celestino made an expansive dismissive gesture with his hands, tossing his head so that his heavy ponytail flipped off his shoulder and down his back. “That’s not happening, is it? You’ve got this, Yuuri, look past today and to where you want to be by the end of the season.”

He nodded, knowing on various levels Celestino was right, but the logical side of things didn’t serve any purpose right then. He stood up, making an excuse about the restroom. Right or not, he needed to be alone. He needed not to hear the faint dregs of Victor’s music as he skated beautifully out on the ice, the way Yuuri wanted to do, the way Yuuri still wanted to show him. How he’d wanted to show his time away from Vicchan and his family and their sacrifices for him over the years were all worth it.

He was staring down at his phone again when he entered the men’s room furthest away from the press and officials and staff working in the halls where the public wasn’t invited. He needed to ring home. Still staring down at his phone’s home screen, he opened his contact screen as the door closed behind him, moving down the one row of stalls.

He breathed in, closing his eyes, and pressed _call_.

“Hello, _Okaa-san_? It’s Yuuri.”

He made it through one sentence before he felt himself starting to crack; his mother talking about the viewing party they’d arranged, his family that’d never really understood the technical details of his sport. His father, who could talk about decades of history regarding his soccer team, cheering his son on when he’d failed so horribly.

He’d failed everyone, in spite of every intention, of every capacity he should have had to do otherwise.

He made his apology, tears finally spilling over as he ended the call, dropping his phone into his lap. He bit back a sob, crying in frustration and sadness, for his inadequacies, for his parents, for his dog. Bumping his glasses back up his face trying to smear the tears away with the back of his wrist, Yuuri felt his tension pour out of him along with his tears.

The sudden, loud crash of something against the stall door he sat behind startled him into a choked off cry, eyes wide and phone sliding off his lap. He scrambled to catch it before it hit the tiled floor, blinking owlishly at the door like that would explain what had happened. He leaned forward, bringing his head down lower to see the feet standing outside. Two shoes, now that the second foot was lowered to the ground, and in red leopard print?

Yuuri stood, tucking his phone into his pocket and opening the door cautiously in case the banging incident chose to repeat itself. Yuri Plisetsky stood glaring at him, hood up and over most his unruly blond hair.

“May I help you?” He could admit it was mildly intimidating to have a teenager death-glaring him when he already felt at his lowest, but the disquieting sensation that set his stomach roiling calmed down as he straightened his spine.

“Yeah, you may.” Every bit the belligerent teenager, Yuri leaned forward, almost coming nose to nose with Yuuri. Yuuri held his ground, flecks of spittle hit his cheek as Yuri proceeded to near shout at him. What in the world?

“You have _one year_ before I make it to seniors, Katsuki. Clean up your act and stop acting like some pathetic loser who hides in bathrooms crying because he had one bad skate and prove you belong here, or retire before I turn fifteen!” Yuri pulled a hand out of his pocket, jabbing a finger at Yuuri without touching him. “There’s no room for losers in the seniors division! Get your shit figured out, or get off the ice!”

Spinning away and stomping out of the restroom, slamming the door closed behind him. Yuuri watched him go, bemused at what he’d been saying. “There’s always new talent coming up,” he said to the empty restroom. “Having someone more experienced step out of the way doesn’t guarantee you the win...”

Shaking his head, Yuuri registered he was at least surprised enough to no longer feel like crying. His brief catharsis had helped, though it didn’t stop the running commentary in the back of his mind.

He doubted much could. He’d have to pull through, and… something. He’d figure it out.

* * *

Yuuri didn’t go to the Exhibition Skate the next day, but he didn’t stay in the hotel room, either. He’d never really walked around in Barcelona before, and now, pulling his hat low to cover his ears and stomping along, he was determined to achieve that much. It didn’t assuage the ache in his heart over his own terrible performance, or the apologies he owed Vicchan for not having been home one last time to see him before now. The first five years of his dog’s life they’d been inseparable outside of competitions; the last four, he’d seen him over Skype and in photographs Mari would periodically send. 

It was easier to keep moving, to tamp down on those thoughts and the clinging disappointment, frustration, and sadness by filling his eyes with unfamiliar sights. He didn’t have time to feel down. With less than two weeks before he’d be skating in his National Competition, he would only _qualify_ for the bigger competitions this season if he pulled himself together and gave a far better performance back home than he had here in Barcelona. The clinging feeling of his own inadequacy helped nothing; it was responsible for the voice in the back of his head chanting _you’re not good enough, not good enough, you’re letting everyone down._

His phone vibrated occasionally with messages from people checking in. Phichit, who wanted any rinkside photographs from the gala. Celestino, asking to meet up for an early dinner since he didn’t find Yuuri back in the hotel room. Chris, asking where he was; but only once. There was nothing from Victor. He felt hurt by that, unreasonably and unaccountably. There was likely a perfectly reasonable explanation, but he didn’t know what it was, and his mind was already leaping to the worst conclusions.

He sighed, travel mask over his lower face, scarf wrapped over that. He’d be at the banquet. He had to, in order to rub elbows with the right people. The interviews would be over for him until Nationals, and his social obligation past hellos were left to his own discretion. With his current mood, he highly doubted _social_ would be his choice.

Yuuri found himself in a few different stores, picking up chocolates, of all things, to bring back to Phichit and a handful of the other skaters in Detroit he saw most often. Bringing small gifts back was habit; but habits were grounding when everything else felt like it was shifting underfoot.

Habits like putting on his one good suit after hopping out of the shower, Celestino already waiting down the hall. His fingers followed through on the familiar pattern of tightening his tie, the cloud hanging over everything for him leading to drooping shoulders and shuffling feet while he watched the ground.

Why would anyone want to talk to him? To talk with him? He’d been a disappointment, earning one of his worst international scores since the start of his senior career. He wasn’t managing his competitive career, he wasn’t managing to be there for his dog, he wasn’t bringing home anything worthwhile to explain the expense and absence from his family for all his adult life. 

How he’d managed to fool everyone for the last four years was a mystery. It’d clearly caught up with him now.

Yuuri pointedly went looking for no one once Celestino left him on his own. The food was like always, the company like always, and once he’d gotten through his few obligations with the old faces that sought him out to comment on nothing he could focus on, he was left to his own devices. Chris was occupied, the bronze medalist JJ was wrapped up in his girlfriend, Victor was caught up in his social circle of largely Russian skaters, where Sara had been pulled in by Mila. Most everyone else was an unfamiliar face Yuuri had no interest in making more familiar, or Cao Bin, who looked about as pleased as Yuuri to be there.

The champagne flutes, on the other hand, required no introduction. The first found his hand by effort of a smiling member of the waitstaff moving through the room. To his mild surprise, he found the effervescent liquid drained without him having realised; Yuuri set the flute aside, not intending to take any more for the evening. Then he was handed another flute, and he found that if he sipped he wasn’t expected to talk, and people were far more likely to move off after a nod or a particularly large swallow of champagne on his part.

The most effective strategy was to keep a flute in his hand, which meant exchanging _several_ empty flutes for full ones, until he finally found the source of all the champagne in the first place. Happiness flooded through him as he closed his hand around the neck of a just-uncorked bottle. _Yes. Exactly what’s needed._ Tugging at the uncomfortable loop of his tie, Yuuri swung around, surveying the room.

Hard to remember why he’d been avoiding people. Everyone here was so stiff! They needed to loosen up, to be more flexible! There was even music droning in over speakers from somewhere. It had a beat, or enough of one he could make out a four count, and a four count worked for just about any dance that came to mind.

The room failed to cooperate as he moved forward, so he made himself fluid, smiling and swimming between bodies, lifting his champagne bottle in invitation before forgetting and taking a swig for himself. He wanted to… talk. Yes, to talk to Victor. He had something important to say to Victor. He caught sight of him with just his youngest rink mate, the one that’d asked for Victor to choreograph his senior debut. The one that’d decided to yell at Yuuri in the restroom. The other Yuri. Yuuri narrowed his eyes.

_Not getting in my way._

“Victor,” he said, lurching closer without spilling a drop of champagne on him. A victory with Victor. He smiled as Victor turned around, blue eyes looking uncommonly bright. So lovely, like a summer sky. 

“What was that? I’m sorry, Yuuri, I still don’t have much Japanese.”

Yuuri paused, then laughed. He’d said that out loud, but in the wrong language! Which was the right one? No, not right, but shared. English. “Just English,” he said, making it a promise. 

“Just English,” Victor said, giving the barest of nods. Yuuri beamed at the agreement; they were really connecting.

Movement at Victor’s side caught Yuuri’s attention, and the flash of blond hair and scowl and bright green eyes resolved into the attitude problem known as Yuri all over again. Yuuri felt his own swirling sense of competition coil in his stomach, rising in his chest until it swelled in his throat. Yuri had said there was no room on the ice for two of them with such similar names. Yuuri didn’t believe that, but right now, he knew there was only enough of Victor for _one_ Yuri, and he fully didn’t intend to lose this attention competition. He was done with losing. Now he wanted to win!

“Here, hold this.” Shoving his champagne bottle into Victor’s chest, Yuuri swayed and curved around his side, coming face to face with the smaller teenager. Yuuri glanced over him, planting his hands on his hips.

“I challenge you… to dance. To a dance competition. Right now!” Yuuri smiled, tipping his head to the side. “Can you break dance, Mr. Plisetsky?” Proud of how much he’d managed to not fully mangle the sounds of Yuri’s surname, Yuuri grinned.

Yuri teetered between obvious outrage and the inability to back down from a challenge, let alone one tossed his way by someone who’d just shoved a champagne bottle off on his rinkmate. Yuuri smiled indulgently as Yuri stepped forward, fingers fumbling with the two buttons on his suit jacket.

“You’re on! Get ready to taste failure again, _Yuuri_.”

Yuuri smirked, pulling out his phone and unlocking it to scroll for his music app. He spied Chris in the small crowd paying attention to his antics, turning his way and waving, in case Chris didn’t see him. “Christophe! Chris, be our DJ!”

Yuuri lost track of things as his night devolved into a series of passing impressions, blurred faces and music and whirling motion. He knew he was being watched, but the attention didn’t matter; his focus was on one challenge after the next. All self-imposed and agreed upon by the people who joined in, and Yuuri, for once feeling over-confident, let that challenge show in his smile. Yuri was the first to fall, panting heavily and stumbling back onto his feat, suit in disarray. Then Chris, whose laughing joke about pole dancing lit a fire in Yuuri’s eyes. There was a delicious irony behind that year where he started pole dancing to help with arm and core work, building his endurance. Who knew that looking for partnerless dancing would pay off when he burned with competitive spirit.

“Bet you I’ll win,” he said to Chris, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He couldn’t remember when it’d come back to him, but it hardly mattered as he shed restrictive layers, vaguely aware that DJ duties had been handed off to Victor in the meantime. Yuuri found him easy to track, the improbably light blond of his hair like a silver beacon that caught his eyes in the immediate watching crowd.

Everything seemed to blend together. Smiling, dancing, laughing over jokes that probably weren’t as funny as he thought they were. He didn’t mind. Laughing felt good, better than crying, and he kept _winning._ He was fairly sure he was winning as he caught Victor’s leg, one arm across his back, supporting him as he dipped him down toward the floor.

Yeah, this sure felt like winning, and if Victor’s answering smile meant anything, he seemed to think so too.

* * *

At some point, Yuuri became convinced it was time to go up to his room. The first problem he faced was the floor’s inability to stay level, leaving Yuuri listing when he tried to leave. Victor had volunteered to see him up to his room when Chris was laughing, no one able to find Celestino as the banquet wound down.

Yuuri didn’t mind. He enjoyed the company, murmuring about it as Victor looped an arm under Yuuri’s arms, helping him walk to the lifts, then riding up in them.

It took Yuuri five minutes to remember his room number; five minutes _after_ he’d triumphantly located his keycard and brandished it in front of Victor before promptly sliding it into Victor’s inner jacket pocket with a wink. He might have blinked instead of winking: he wasn’t sure.

It turned out to be a wise decision in the end. It was easier to let Victor handle the keypad than try to fumble through it himself, Yuuri watching with delayed interest as the lock flashed from red to green, beeping happy acceptance. He smiled, a choked off laugh in his throat for the delight of them conquering the lock. 

“In you go,” Victor said, pushing the door in and catching Yuuri around the shoulders as he lurched forward and nearly went over sideways when his feet tripped over each other. Yuuri slung his arm around Victor’s waist, face pressed against the material of his jacket.

“The ground’s moving,” he said, certain of his own observation. “Be careful.”

He didn’t know why Victor chuckled at his words, but he liked the sound, smiling up at Victor when Victor glanced down at him. “I think you might need to be the most careful right now, Yuuri. Here, which bed’s yours?”

Yuuri kept watching Victor’s face, vaguely rolling his free wrist at the rest of the room. “Both. Either. The window?” He cooperated with Victor, allowing him to guide Yuuri to the bed closer to the window. It was nice, full sized and larger than the beds Yuuri had back home or in Detroit. How many beds did one person need? Futons were nice, too, but it seemed like he’d always had a Western style bed in his remembered life. He tried informing Victor of this conundrum, but Victor had moved off toward the sink, filling a glass with water.

“Here, drink this down. Do you have anything for headaches? You could take something right now, but Yuuri, I don’t envy your morning.” 

Yuuri accepted the water glass and lifted it obediently to his lips, taking big, gulping sips between glances toward Victor. He’d be fine. Or he wouldn’t, but right now he didn’t care about headaches. He cared about… what did he care about? Victor. Victor was so nice, helping give him water, dancing and being a good loser. He’d been smiling earlier. Smiles that made Yuuri feel warm and fuzzy in a different way than the champagne.

“You’re so nice,” he said, empty glass cradled in his hands. “Will you make me nice too? I want to be nice. I want to feel nice. Are those the same?” He paused, listing toward the left, then swaying back toward the right in an attempt to stay centered. “Dancing was nice.” He thrust the glass out toward Victor, who had managed to take a cautious seat on the bed to Yuuri’s side without Yuuri expressly realising. “Wow. When did you get there?”

Victor smiled, taking the glass back, or at least trying. Yuuri had to remind himself to let go, even as he leaned in to better see Victor’s face in the artificial light. His eyes were still that intense, piercing blue. No, not piercing; they were too warm for that. Like a cloudless summer sky. 

“You should get to bed, Yuuri. You’ll be okay here on your own?”

_See? He’s so nice._ Asking if Yuuri was okay, alone. It did funny things to Yuuri’s heart, his chest constricting as heat prickled his eyes. The tears felt like an unhappy relief, welling up until he had to keep blinking for his vision to stop swimming. “I left him on his own,” he said, the confession choked out past the growing lump in his throat. In his mind’s eye, he saw the picture Mari had sent him of Vicchan just last week, holding his leash in his mouth and walking himself along down the road. _He’s smart_ , Mari had sent. _He’s figured out how to walk even dad around town._

Victor had gone still at Yuuri’s side. “Yuuri? Who did you leave on their own? Celestino?”

He shook his head, a laugh clawing its way out of his throat, turning into a cut-off sob. He wiped the heel of his palm under his eyes, smearing the tears that continued to fall. He could feel his nose starting to run, but finding tissue was so far beyond him. The misery that he’d been pushing back all night by racing from challenge to challenge crept back in. Loss of a friend, a member of his family. Loss of his own confidence in his ability to skate. Loss of the confidence of others in the community, though not from his sponsors, and not from his family, and not even from Celestino. “No,” he said, realising Victor was waiting for a response. “Vicchan. My dog, Vicchan, he—” Yuuri couldn’t finish, shoulders shaking as a garbled sob stifled in his throat. 

He felt a touch at his shoulder, Victor’s hand tentative and uncertain. He didn’t have to see Victor’s eyes to know there was concern there, possibly some doubt for Yuuri’s sanity. It only made him feel worse.

“What happened to Vicchan?”

Yuuri knew he was sobbing, pressing his fist against his mouth, as if that could dam it up. As if there was any way to put the last few days back together in a different way, to save everything he cared about, instead of being left with inadequate apologies. His shoulders hunched as he leaned forward, dragging his fist away from his lips. Swallowing saliva as thick and uncooperative as his thoughts when he tried to answer.

“He died. Two days ago, when we—the practice session, before the free skate—and then I _messed it up_ and I hadn’t seen him in person for four years, I haven’t, I haven’t gone home to visit and now Vicchan’s, he’s,” Yuuri said, voice breaking.

He could feel Victor lean away, then lean in, his hand an awkward flutter at Yuuri’s back that slowly pressed in more firmly, then started haltingly stroking down. “I’m so sorry Yuuri.” Victor even sounded sorry, which only made Yuuri feel worse. He hiccuped through another stifled sob, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe then it’d stop hurting, or Victor would go, and none of this flavour of mess would end up being shared.

It took a moment for Yuuri to realise Victor hadn’t _stopped_ talking, and was in fact continuing to ramble and ask questions with a mildly uncomfortable tone of voice. He had to open his eyes again to try and see Victor’s expression, not trusting his ears. Once he caught Victor’s attention, he found himself being confronted with a blank-screened phone.

“... at pictures of Makkachin? Yuuri, please tell me what to do, I’m not good with tears, I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” It was a mumbled hiccup of a word, Yuuri swallowing to clear his throat, eyes raw and nose wet. He licked his upper lip, staring at the phone uncomprehending. “Makkachin?”

“Yes, or not, we don’t need to look at Makkachin. Did you want to share pictures of Vicchan?”

Yuuri stared at him, nose dripping, mind a blank hum of white noise, heart constricting with aching, sometimes sharp pain. He didn’t know where his phone was, or if he wanted to navigate it right then. He didn’t even know that he wanted to see pictures of Makkachin, being cute and loved and _alive_ , but it wasn’t the worst idea, either. Victor was trying, and largely failing, to make Yuuri feel better. Maybe Victor would feel better about being bad at this if Yuuri said yes.

So he nodded, wiping the back of his wrist under his nose again, leaning against Victor’s shoulder as his inspiration, his idol, and his friend breathed out in a shaky sigh and brought up his photo gallery. Yuuri didn’t recognise the labels, but he recognised Makkachin’s face. Through Victor’s nonsensical rambling about Makkachin and his adventures, showing picture after picture, some barely different from the ones before, Yuuri let the hurt flow through him as freely as the alcohol. 

Sometimes he knew he was crying, other times he stopped, watching out of focus images of a friendly brown poodle be swiped steadily sideways, one after another. Victor didn’t call attention to the tears again. Yuuri didn’t know if that had more to do with being at a loss for addressing it or something else. He was thankful in the back of his tired mind, finding his eyes closing and his chin tucking down toward his chest. 

“Victor’s voice is nice,” he said when Victor continued talking, his phone no longer lighting up both their faces with its bright screen. He had a sense that Victor was trying to tuck him in, or at least pull the comforter over him, though he wasn’t sure when he’d ended up lying on his side. Yuuri pulled his legs toward his chest and curled in on himself, utterly unhelpful. Sheets and blankets were pulled on before being left alone; when a blanket did settle over him, Yuuri didn’t even question where it came from. He was exhausted and drained, grunting a cranky response to whatever Victor was asking. 

A cool hand brushed his hair to the side, Yuuri turning in to the touch. He felt overwarm, and the coolness was nice. For a hazy moment, he imagined he even felt something soft and warm like lips press against his forehead, but the sensation was gone almost as quickly as it came. By the time he managed to crack one eye open, Victor wasn’t leaning over him any longer. He was patting the blanket over Yuuri’s shoulder and wishing him a good night.

“Nngh,” Yuuri said in response, eye falling closed again. He was out before Victor left the room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his head falling apart, Yuuri has to put himself back together and makes the only decision he can if he's going to keep on chasing Victor's star.

There could be nothing worse than a hangover when Yuuri was due for an interview. He believed in the truth of that statement until Chris sent him a short message and a photograph he claimed to have gotten from Victor; Yuuri stared at the image of two men and a pole for a good five seconds before it registered _that was him and Chris._ His abject and sudden shock over what kind of fool he’d made himself the night before pulled an inhumane squeal out of his throat, sending a shock of pain knifing through his head and making him wish in cursing immediacy for his imminent doom. Lacking that, another five hours of sleep he knew he wasn’t going to get.

_What happened last night?!_

Chris sent back a reply fairly quickly.

_swing by rehersal  
see u soon!!!_

Yuuri cursed under his breath, groaning as he flopped back down on his mattress. He’d have to see if he could fly through the interview then get over to the ice before everyone left. He had his credentials, so it shouldn’t be a problem, as long as he hit the ground running.

Literally.

He couldn’t explain why one bed was stripped of its comforter and sheets and why he had them on the other bed, but it made about as much sense as anything he did when drunk. Pulling on a sweater and his exercise pants, Yuuri jammed his feet into his runners and grabbed his wallet, phone, credentials, and toothbrush before heading out the door.

Later, he’d wonder what had possessed him to grab his toothbrush, until he remembered he hadn’t yet brushed his teeth. Or his hair, but no one seemed to notice.

* * *

“Please tell me I didn’t do anything I should regret more than I already regret of what I know I did.”

Chris grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “What, such as outcompeting me on the pole? Yuuri, I had no idea you even know pole dancing!”

“It’s not relevant, and that’s that’s beside the point!”

Chris was hanging out next to the boards, where Yuuri had snuck closer out of sheer desperation to _know_. Right now Victor and three other skaters were being run through part of the closing ceremony performance. Chris would be joining them again in a moment when the pair skaters were going to be pulled out into the center of the rink.

“You danced, you stripped down, but nothing got too unpardonable. There were a few raised eyebrows, but you know as well as I do if people had objected too hard to what was going on, security would have pulled you out and sent you away to sleep off the alcohol.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how we found a pole in the first place…”

Chris laughed, shaking his head. “We made use of one of the ones already there. No magic, no mystery about it, other than whoever thought that was a necessary part of the banquet hall’s interior design.”

Yuuri pressed his face into his hands, glasses shoved up on his forehead. “ _Ugh_ , this is stupid, it’s embarrassing. Doubly embarrassing after that terrible performance yesterday.” Yuuri lifted his head, expression almost blank. “Did you know I was asked this morning if I’d been injured? By the interviewer for one of the Japanese sport news sites.”

“Were you?” Chris sounded appropriately curious, and a glance his way confirmed he even looked a mild degree of concerned.

Yuuri shook his head, promptly regretting it and holding his head firmly between his hands. “No! I just, it just… I messed up. That’s all there is to say.”

He’d let his weaknesses take him out of the competition, right when he most wanted to be showing he was there for a reason. He wasn’t injured. He wasn’t even broken—he was dealing with his usual flaws, brought to an emotional extreme he hadn’t been able to control.

In short, it was all his own fault, and he knew it.

Victor joined them, pulling to a stop in front of the boards and smiling at Yuuri with far too much wattage behind his expression. Yuuri actually closed his eyes, feeling momentarily overwhelmed.

“Yuuri! How’s your head treating you?”

“It’s been better,” he admitted, peering at Victor trough slitted eyes. “Victor, how bad was I last night?”

“How bad?” He lifted his eyebrows, leaning on the top of the boards. “You were a rather charming, unfairly coordinated drunk, but past showing off your break dance, pole dance, and ballroom dancing skills, you were very well behaved.” Victor glanced toward Chris. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Nothing burned down and no one got thrown out, so I do, actually.”

“There, see?” Victor grinned at Yuuri, still far too bright for Yuuri’s head at the moment. “You were a perfectly good drunk.”

“Oh no, what do you mean, break dancing?”

“You don’t remember any of last night?”

Yuuri felt miserable, shaking his head very slowly, careful not to jostle too much. 

Victor considered him for a few beats of his heart, then sighed, giving him a small, still fond smile. “I’m not needed again as far as the choreographer’s concerned. Come on, let’s find something for you to drink.”

Chris glanced between them, lifting an eyebrow and being met by an expression from Victor that Yuuri didn’t quite catch. “I’ll let you know if they change up any of the choreography last minute.” Shooing them off, Chris turned his attention back out on the rink, leaving Yuuri to trail along the outside of the boards to where Victor could step through.

“My shoes are back in the Skater’s Lounge. How are you feeling about juice?”

“Ugh.” Yuuri didn’t try to keep himself from looking grumpy. Nothing sounded appealing yet, he was even more nervous about whatever he’d done last night now that Victor was pointedly trying to talk to him, and he was still a failure people were predicting would retire because he’d clearly pinnacled last season. How he felt about juice was the least of his concerns.

“Apple juice it is!” Food and drink was still technically provided on this last morning, which included the remainder of the bottled beverages outside of the electrolyte replenishers and water. Walking in skates with the guards on, Victor had an additional three inches over Yuuri, which for once in his life made him feel particularly short. 

Okay, he felt short more often in Detroit than back home, but that wasn’t the point. It was odd having to look up and actually crane his neck to meet Victor’s eyes cleanly.

“Good, good, they still had an apple juice back here.” Victor reached forward, plucking it off the table with a selection of carb-heavy baked goods and various protein energy bars. “Here.”

Yuuri accepted the juice, trailing along after Victor and expecting… the worst, if he was honest. Never talk to him again, or _Yuuri, you’re an embarrassment to the sport_ , or any number of things that Yuuri felt were true, but that’d ruin him, coming from Victor. 

When Victor took a seat, Yuuri stayed standing. Victor had to pointedly pat the couch next to him before Yuuri finally sat, trying to keep himself still and not fidget as he opened the juice. He took an unenthusiastic sip, grumbling in wordless protest when the taste turned his stomach.

“Doesn’t taste like real apple,” he complained, voice quiet.

“No, not particularly. Still helps some. You should eat before much longer, but you already know that.” A vote of confidence that Yuuri knew what to do in the wake of a bad decision night involving alcohol, which…

“Victor, what really happened last night?”

Victor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “You danced, like I said. It was more of a surprise than anything else, though you might want to be more reserved come Four Continents.” His lips pulled into a short-lived smile; then Victor sighed, turning his head to look up at Yuuri. “You told me about what happened before your skate yesterday. About who you lost, and how you felt.”

Yuuri stiffened, searching Victor’s face for anything to say he was kidding, or that he pitied Yuuri, or any of the millions of things he didn’t want to deal with ever, let alone right now. All he saw was a steadiness that he recognised from various moments over the years. A hint of sadness, perhaps, but nothing like the pity he’d expected once he accepted Victor wasn’t lying to him.

“Vicchan.” He said at last, voice cracking. He looked down at his hands, clenching the juice bottle tight. “I told you?”

“Mm. You did.”

“Was that all?”

“Well, there was… a good deal of crying. Which was understandable.” Victor chuckled, a low, strained sound that turned into a sigh. “I wasn’t sure what to do. I never know what to do when people cry, so I panicked and bored you to death showing you pictures of Makkachin.”

“You what.”

“Yuuri, it was the only thing I could think of doing. What else was I going to do? You were drunk, kissing you would have made things worse, and I hate to say it, but that was the first thing that came to mind, and even _I_ knew that was a bad idea.”

“In what world is someone’s first response to seeing someone crying to kiss them?” Startled, Yuuri looked back over to Victor, finding him looking sheepish.

“Isn’t it natural to want to comfort someone you care about when they’re in distress? Anyway, that’s what the Makkachin pictures were about. Though now that I know you don’t remember any of them, I almost feel cheated.” Victor paused, tilting his head to the side. “Or blessed. I have no idea what I was saying for half of them.”

Yuuri continued to stare at Victor, warmth and tightness and confusion swirling through his chest. “Victor, why are you telling me all this?”

He saw Victor blink, straightening up and looking off in front of where they sat. “You’d said you didn’t remember last night. It wouldn’t have felt right knowing what I do without you knowing that I know, too.” He looked troubled, Yuuri unsure why. He wanted to ask, almost did, but at the same time didn’t believe it was his business.

Whatever it was, it seemed to pass. Victor turned toward him and reached out, wrapping one hand around Yuuri’s on the juice bottle. “You had a really bad skate yesterday.”

Yuuri felt himself freeze. He half wanted to shove Victor away, even though he wasn’t really all that close, let alone like he hung over Chris when they were all hanging out, but those words—he was paralysed before them.

Victor was still talking. “You’re not a bad skater, Yuuri. There was enough throwing you off that I don’t know even I’d be able to skate through, especially not…” He trailed off, wise enough not to deliberately bring up Vicchan again by name. Yuuri already felt the guilt closing up his throat again, a vise around his chest. His heart clenched.

 _Vicchan._

“We’re still at the start of the season. You’ll come back from this. I know you will.”

Yuuri wanted to cry, half bitter tears, half grieving and disbelieving. How could Victor believe in him when he didn’t believe in himself? That’d always been the point, hadn’t it. Victor had told him that more than once, and while everything hurt, including his stupid hungover head and his stupid, fragile, grieving heart, he couldn’t lay the blame for a lack of faith on Victor.

Yuuri was the only faithless one here, some days.

“You say that like you believe it.”

“I do.” Victor gave a warm squeeze of Yuuri’s hand before pulling his hand away. “Are you planning on watching the gala at noon?”

Yuuri breathed in, counting to three, then out, almost keeping steady. “I hadn’t thought about it.” It hurt in a different way, since he wasn’t even ranked high enough to make it into the exhibition skate. He swallowed, eyes falling back to his bottled juice. “I don’t think I will.”

He didn’t look at Victor, though he heard him make a noise of acknowledgement, shifting his weight so his knee knocked against Yuuri’s. “Okay.” Nothing more, nothing less. “Then because I probably won’t be seeing you again before I fly out, good luck at Nationals, Yuuri. I’ll be cheering for you.”

Victor hefted himself up, grunting as he gained his feet and stretched, arms overhead. “Aaah, stretching always feels so good! It’s best right after you’re all warmed up and relaxed, don’t you think?” He stepped forward, looking back at Yuuri with a smile.

Yuuri happened to see it, looking up at Victor once he stood. “Yeah, sure.” He smiled, a weak effort, but Victor didn’t comment on it. “Good luck to you too, Victor. Not that you need it, but...” Yuuri made a motion with his hand.

Victor inclined his head to Yuuri, eyes thoughtful. “We all need some measure of luck. Either the kind that comes upon us, or the kinds we make for ourselves. Talk to you later, Yuuri! Oh, and before I forget.”

He met Victor’s gaze, canting his head in silent query.

The smile he was met with had the same brightness as earlier at the boards. “You invited me to visit your family hot spring.”

Yuuri buried his face in his hands and groaned as Victor walked away, laughing. He peered through his fingers to watch him go, fighting back a twitching smile.

Drunk Yuuri had done him at least one favour, it seemed.

It’d given him a reason to laugh at himself when otherwise all he wanted to do was cry.

* * *

He was barely back in Detroit before he was turning around and heading for Japan. The National Championships were being held in Nagano, still too far for his parents, and Minako had passed, citing she was waiting on an invitation to see him at Worlds, Yuuri, _why hadn’t that happened yet._

He still felt off-center, like he was seeing everything from an angle shifted a little to the right. He hadn’t slept well the days back in Detroit, and his first night in Nagano wasn’t much better. Pulling himself out of bed and heading out for a morning jog simply to get moving, Yuuri felt himself starting to spiral. His short program he felt… _okay_ about, but the mere thought of his free skate left his stomach in knots. The classical music playing through his headphones was a steady stream of calm, managing to keep Yuuri more or less focused on the task of jogging as he made a circuit of a few city blocks. 

He was waiting at a street corner before crossing a busy intersection when his song started playing; Ketty’s reworked version of the composition she’d made before. He could see the choreography he’d worked on with Victor in his mind’s eye, feel how it all strung together, became a way of showing his love for the ice, for the support of his friends and family, everything that allowed him to be where he was.

Those thoughts jangled around with the unease, worming through it until he felt less like bile was climbing the back of his throat. He lacked confidence in his free skate after the Grand Prix Final, and no matter how often Celestino reassured him, no matter what words he replayed through his mind from Victor, he still _felt_ off. It wasn’t enough time.

He crossed the street at a jog, turning left and continuing on. What if he scrapped it? Threw his whole program away, at least until after Nationals. His costume wasn’t going to change, that much was improbable, but he could reuse an old program. He had more confidence in those, especially the ones from last year.

His mind raced through the possibilities, a flutter of excitement joining all the fluttering nerves in his stomach.

That could be one solution. He had all the music, he could make it work. Or…

Yuuri firmed his jaw, eyes focused straight ahead. Or he could take the program he’d been working on with Victor for months and bring it to the ice. His theme was rebirth, and the program was more about love, but couldn’t the two be tied in? A rebirth through a realisation of love. A thousand rebirths through a thousand moments of every kind of love.

There were other problems that could arise, other ways his harebrained scheme could go wrong, but it felt right in a way his original free skate didn’t. Rebirth meant he could reinvent himself if he needed to do that; after losing Vicchan, after he’d lost control of his free skate at the Grand Prix Final, he wanted to be reborn.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, trailed by the heat of blue flames.

He called Celestino, acting before he could triple guess himself. “I know it sounds crazy, but this is what I need to do.”

He took a deep breath, and he made his gamble, determined to make it pay off.

* * *

His short program suffered a shaky beginning, but ended on a strong note to enthusiastic applause. In his opinion, the crowds were always enthusiastic in his home nation; he tried not to think about the fact he was a defending champion instead of just one skater amoung the rest. 

He lead by less than what he could have had with a clean program and full PCS. It was better than he’d expected, and he knew it. 

He watched videos of the Russian Nationals running almost perfectly concurrent, amazed as he always was watching Victor skate. His resolve firmed all the more as he replayed Victor’s short program, watching how he skated, breaking down elements and calculating scores as he would have guessed or given them.

Victor wouldn’t have any more time to watch him skating live than Yuuri had to watch Victor, if Victor was even inclined to try. Yuuri simply felt he had to say something after making his decision, staring at his phone while Victor was paused, mid quad flip, arms tucked tight, hair whipping around his head, lips a determined line.

_Victor, I had a chance to watch your short program at Nationals. You were amazing! Was that with the luck you made, or the luck you were given? (I’m joking.) I’m trying to make my own luck here, and I think you’ll understand when you get a chance to watch it._

He hit send, plugging his phone in to charge and dropping into a restless sleep that finally let him find peace sometime before dawn.

* * *

The change for his free skate was pushed through the official channels, his music provided and everything checked out before their warm up skate that morning. While each skater was played their song for a chance to run through their program, Yuuri could almost hear the confusion as he moved into unfamiliar step sequences to a song no one recognised.

A younger skater, blond hair with a shock of red in his bangs, practically jumped up and down in place when Yuuri and the rest stepped off the ice. 

“I can’t believe it, Yuuri-san! You changed your free skate! That’s amazing! Have you been planning this the whole time? I know you’re incredible, but this is, that was…!” He degenerated into a high pitched sort of happy squealing, Yuuri pulling back with an awkward expression.

“Um, it’s been a work in progress. Thank you.” Giving a shallow, brief bow of his head, he moved past, digging for his headphones as Celestino clapped his shoulder and offered him water. 

“Looking sharp!” Celestino smiled, then affixed Yuuri with a serious look. “You’re up last after yesterday. Make yourself proud out there today.”

Yuuri nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. He was determined to do that much, even if he failed.

He wouldn’t fail.

But _if_ …

He shook off the thought, denying it any more of his attention. Until it was time for him to skate, all he had room for was the music, for stretching and staying loose and limber, and for the mantra running through his head: _skate what you most want to see._

* * *

“And Katsuki Yuuri has won gold at the Japan Championships for the third year running! With an amazing new program no one knew anything about, while wearing his former free skate program’s costume, the question on everyone’s mind is: did Katsuki Yuuri plan this?”

It was in fact the question he was asked repeatedly, in different ways, by the press before, after, and during the press conference. Each time he denied it, passing it off and having little commentary until someone asked about the choreography.

“Did you choreograph this program on your own?”

He realised the fatal flaw in not talking with Victor about this before meant he didn’t know if he should be revealing Victor’s involvement or not. They were technically rivals, all things considered. Was there an etiquette for helping choreograph a rival’s program when you both were still in the amatuer competitive circuit?

“No, it was a joint effort between myself and another party. We’ll be releasing a statement about my new free skate soon.”

“Katsuki-san! What’s the name of the music used in your program? Is it original? Is it from a body of work already in existence?”

Easier questions to handle. Only… he’d never properly named the music. Victor had taken to referring to it as Yuuri’s On Ice song, but that lacked a certain flow as a title. It wasn’t just that it belonged to Yuuri, or anything of the kind. It _was_ Yuuri. “It’s an original composition by Ketty Abelashvili, a conservatory student in Detroit, Michigan, in the United States. I asked her to compose a piece that would reflect my career up to this point.”

“Katsuki-san! What’s this song titled?”

Yuuri’s mind was a helpful blank as he smiled, eyes darting around. “Oh, um… it’s called Yuuri on Ice.” A few reporters stared; one laughed, then turned it into a poorly disguised coughing fit. Yuuri blushed, determinedly shoving his hands in his lap and looking at the man who’d asked the question. “It’s about what it is I’ve found on the ice, and brought here with me, and the people who helped me get to this point. Yuuri on Ice,” he said again, nodding his head. “Just exactly what it sounds like.”

All the questions in the world didn’t prepare him for the text waiting for him after his shower that evening.

_Yuuri! Yuuri, you used the song! Are you calling it Yuuri on Ice officially now? That’s what I found on a forum that translated the press conference. You skated our choreography! Incredible!_

He smiled, ducking his head down and biting his lower lip. Victor sounded pleased instead of horrified. That was one hurdle overcome without Yuuri having had much to do with it.

_It’s what felt right. My original program for my free skate just felt… off. I don’t know._

He settled down on the bed, pillows propped up behind his back as he scrolled through news articles talking about his win while waiting for Victor’s reply.

_You’re the one out there on the ice. If this felt right, it was right. You surprised me, you know that? In the best possible ways!_

Victor’s words left a warm feeling in his core, Yuuri smiling to himself. The smile faded as he braced himself to ask one of the questions he realised had no answer earlier in the evening.

_Is it going to be another surprise to ask how you want me to handle your choreography credit? It’s not going to get you in trouble if I tell the JSF you’re my choreographer?_

He didn’t know how it would. He also didn’t know all the permutations of the rules, or how things differed in Russia compared to Japan. Victor had to have a better idea of it all, especially when he’d been offering his assistance in the first place.

_No idea!_

Yuuri bolted upright. “What?!” Victor was still typing, sending another message through after a minute.

_I don’t think so. Let the JSF know I was your primary choreographer, but don’t forget to include yourself, too. I’m honoured to be known as one of the choreographers for Japan’s Ace!_

His heart was still racing from the shock of Victor outright admitting he had no idea if this would cause him problems.

_Why would you do this if you didn’t know if it’d be okay?! Victor, I don’t want to get you in trouble!_

Of all the consequences he’d been imagining, particularly if he’d failed, this hadn’t been one of them!

_Yuuri, there isn’t any trouble. It’s starting my career as a choreographer for other internationally competitive skaters a year early, that’s all. I was going to be acknowledged for both Yuri’s next year. The timeline moved up, and I couldn’t be more happy._

Yuuri flopped back against his pillows, just as suddenly exhausted. He wanted to be giddy at what Victor’d said, but he was still recovering from what _else_ Victor wrote.

_If you’re sure… My agent wants me to have a press release out tomorrow morning._

He rolled on his side, staring at his phone until Victor’s message appeared.

_I’m sure. Oh, and Yuuri? Thank you for the belated birthday present._

Yuuri stared at his phone in disbelief, startled into laughing. The cheek!

_Had to compete with the picture of Makkachin wearing a hat that you sent me for mine somehow._

His smile dimmed, Vicchan’s darker brown fur coming so clearly to his mind’s eye. He missed him. Really missed him, and always would, but the pain was slightly less sharp today than it’d been last week. At his current rate, it’d stop feeling as sharp by the time he was twenty-five.

He breathed out in a huff of amusement, texting Victor another quick reply and a goodnight. Setting his glasses on the side table, he laid down his head and was already drifting to sleep by the time his phone lit up with a reply.

* * *

His time after Nationals leading up to the Four Continents became intensive training for his free program, and tightening up some of his technical elements in his short. Phichit’s Nationals had gone well. He was off to the Bavarian Open the same week Yuuri was at Four Continents, leaving Yuuri with one of the Skate Club coaches who helped work with him on jumps every so often. She was a firm, straightforward woman, and while it felt decidedly odd being at a competition again without Celestino, it wasn’t the worst.

He made it through with another gold after a middling performance in his short (in his opinion), followed by a stronger, clean performance of his free skate. He was more excited hearing Phichit had won bronze at the Bavarian Open than over his gold. Not because he wasn’t appreciative, but focusing on Phichit’s success allowed Yuuri to distract himself from obsessing over the upcoming World Championships.

He had little more than a month before the World Championships to nail down his programs as perfectly as possible. He needed to replicate his Nationals performance of his short program along with his best free skate, or he could kiss any chance of the gold goodbye.

He continued practicing his quad flip, challenged and frustrated in turn by his thirty-percent landing rate. Gratified that he had _any_ landing rate at all for a jump he was hoping to add next season, a further surprise offered to Victor and the world. Victor was the only competing skater who was currently landing one in competition, and had been doing so regularly for the last two years.

In quieter moments, to calm the chaos in his head, he fell back on habits from what felt like almost a lifetime ago. Yuuri moved through the elements of Victor’s free skate, and even when he fell on the jumps, it still held an almost meditative property for his heart. The aches of his own mistakes, his regrets and love for his dog and his family, all dulled a little in the face of his homage to the beauty and grace of Victor’s artistry.

It let him skate away from the murmur of considerations that arose when the official statement on his new program was released to press: _Victor Nikiforov as a choreographer for his competition?_ Some decried Yuuri as incapable of doing Victor’s artistry justice, though that’d subsided somewhat at Four Continents.

For Yuuri, it was a burning need to _prove_ the work Victor had put into a program that wasn’t even supposed to debut this year had been worth it. Prove to Victor his belief was merited; that Yuuri would not only catch his star, but fly past him, turning around and holding a hand out to invite him to dance all over again.

He was excited as often as tense, anticipating more than anxious, and when he skated to _Stammi Vicino_ , he was channeling its hope for himself. Selfish, perhaps, but just as the singer mourned a loss he couldn’t rectify, Yuuri hoped for everything more.

Celestino flew in with him to Shanghai, Phichit back in Detroit training with another coach in the interim. Chris was already in town, Victor set to arrive later in the day. They planned on getting dinner together, to sample some of the local cuisine.

It ended up being a whole group of them heading out for hot pot, even Yakov, who Yuuri couldn’t remember ever spending time near outside of the event centers over the years. He was remarkably good at frowning, even when eating. Yuuri felt almost morbidly fascinated watching Yakov studiously scoop out a dumpling and eat it, frowning all the while.

The hubbub of conversation kept Yuuri from needing to say much unless he chose. He had no idea how he ended up sandwiched between his coach and Josef, but he didn’t mind. Josef proved to be a pleasant conversationalist, commenting on the changes to Yuuri’s free skate and drawing Celestino into conversation as well.

He caught Victor’s gaze once or twice, sharing a smile but less conversation. They just weren’t sitting close enough for it to be easy. Not ideal, but what right did he have to say anything about it? He’d probably be getting dinner one of these nights with just Victor, Chris, and Nicola anyway. Plenty of time to speak then.

What he hadn’t expected was for Celestino to end up drunk enough that Yuuri had to pack him off in a taxi, shaking his head the whole time. “Very nice,” Celestino said, leaning on Yuuri and patting his coat to check for his wallet. “Oh, look, Yuuri. A taxi! _Ciao ciao_!” Waving it down, Celestino lurched away from Yuuri, smile as broad as it ever was.

“Time for sleep, sleep time. You sleep soon too, Yuuri. There’s a big competition for you this week.” Celestino sounded grave, but the effect was ruined where he was fumbling for the latch on the taxi door. Yuuri stepped in to help, earning a bear hug and an enthused, “ _Grazie!_ ”

He’d planned on heading back with Celestino, but the man shut the taxi door in his face with all the grace of a drunk pleased by a sudden bout of coordination, waving to him before starting on the endeavour of buckling himself in.

Yuuri shrugged, stepping back away from the taxi, waggling his fingers. Celestino was an adult. He’d be able to handle himself. Besides, they weren’t so far away from the hotel that Yuuri couldn’t walk, and the night was nice, the bustle of an unfamiliar metropolis a hum in the back of his mind that kept his brain occupied with something more than his own self-generated worries.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Hm?” He looked over his shoulder, catching sight of Victor walking up to his side. “Oh, Victor. I didn’t know you were heading out too.”

Victor shrugged, offering a small smile, then held out his arm. “We all have practice sessions scheduled tomorrow.”

Yuuri blinked at the offered arm, mentally shrugging before he shoved his hands in his pockets and gave Victor a nod. “I think we have the same scheduling.”

Victor’s arm settled back at his side as he fell in step at Yuuri’s side. “For the most part. It’s almost like we’re competing together!” He smiled, tipping his head toward Yuuri. “I’m looking forward to seeing your free skate in person.”

“It’s your choreography, Victor.”

“Mm, but you’re the one bringing it to life. No one else can create music with their body the way you do.”

As if that wasn’t an odd thing to say, Victor carried on, Yuuri staring at him as his cheeks heated. Was it embarrassment? Pride? Confusion? “I could already see how much you’d refined it between Nationals and Four Continents.”

“It still doesn’t feel like it’s been enough time. I’m not sure if it wasn’t a crazy decision in the first place… I’d worked on my other free skate all season, I’d only been working on Yuuri on Ice with you as a side project!”

“But it felt right.”

Yuuri nodded, firming the line of his jaw. “It still does. I didn’t make the wrong decision.”

Victor watched him for a moment before he nodded, making a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. “No, you didn’t.” He fell silent, moving through the crowds of people with practiced ease, at home in his own skin. Yuuri envied that most days. He admired it every day. Victor was easy enough on the eyes, sure, but the way he moved through the world or held himself still was almost more mesmerising on its own.

He hadn’t realised he was staring until Victor caught his gaze, quirking his lips in an amused smile. “Something on my face?”

Yuuri looked away, shrugging. “No. It’s just you.”

“Just me?”

He tucked his chin in with a frown. “I was just thinking about how different it is to go from admiring someone from a distance to learning who they are up close.”

“Mm. Is it a good difference, or a bad one?”

He offered Victor a half smile, turning his face toward him. “It’s an important one, I think. I don’t know that there’s anything good or bad about it.”

Victor’s expression had fallen into neutral lines, ones that didn’t fade, but softened as he held Yuuri’s gaze. “I’d like to think there’s some of both.”

“They’re just differences. Do they have to be good or bad?”

He was surprised by Victor’s chuckle as they started across the street with a stream of other moving bodies. “You have a point.”

He didn’t answer, making a noncommittal sound in his throat. Victor didn’t pick up any thread of conversation again for a few blocks, the two of them walking in a familiar sort of silence, aware of each other without demanding attention. It gave Yuuri plenty of time to think, both good and bad.

“Yuuri, what do you most want out of life?”

It was such a surprising question to rise from their companionable silence that Yuuri blurted out his answer without pausing to think. “You.”

Victor seemed caught off guard in turn, turning to look at Yuuri with wide, astonished eyes. He started laughing as Yuuri held up his hands and waved them furiously in front of himself. “No! No, that’s not what I mean, not like that! I want to catch _up_ to you!”

“And past that? What comes next?” Victor stopped laughing, still smiling in good humour and wiping the back of his wrist under his eyes. He hardly looked like he’d been laughing that hard, but who knew, Yuuri was too flustered to really check.

“In my life, or in my career?”

“Both.”

“I…” He paused, taking in a deep breath, then letting it out. “I take gold. Then I either help out with the _onsen_ or see about going into… something related to figure skating, I guess. What about you?” He peered over at Victor, face still flushed with embarrassment.

It was the question on everyone’s minds as people predicted Victor’s fourth consecutive gold at Worlds, clearly to be followed by another season since he’d shown no signs of slowing down, and then… retired and do something else incredible. Victor was fated for the incredible. He was legendary, so how could it be otherwise?

“I don’t know.” Victor’s reply gave Yuuri pause, but he continued on, looking forward in the direction they were walking. “After I retire, I’ll probably go into more choreography for skaters, ice shows, things like that. Maybe make an attempt at coaching,” he added, looking sidelong at Yuuri, “If the right person asked.”

“Oh?” He felt his heart skip a beat, though he couldn’t, wouldn’t examine why. “Who would the right person be?”

“Someone talented, motivated, who needs just a little more push and refinement to become something even more spectacular than they already are, maybe.” Victor tapped a gloved finger against his chin, lips curled into a small, wry grin. “Someone who asked if I would after inviting me to visit their family _onsen_ during the off season.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened in slowly dawning comprehension. “ _I didn’t…!_ ”

“Oh, you very much did.” Victor smiled, hand dropping away from his face. “I was flattered, you know. I’ve been asked to choreograph before, but that was the first and only time anyone ever has asked me to be their coach!”

Yuuri groaned, holding his hands pressed palms together in front of his face, torso twisting around toward Victor. “Please forgive me for being such a monumental idiot!”

“Yuuri!” Victor took hold of his hands, pulling them down and away from his face. “Don’t apologise. I wasn’t even sure if you meant it, and with everything else, well, I half forgot until last month.” Victor was still holding his hands cupped between his own. 

“Last month?”

“After Four Continents.” Victor studied Yuuri’s face, bringing them both to a stop close to the storefront window they were passing. “Did you mean it?”

Did he? Yuuri didn’t have to think. He already knew what his drunk, inhibition free self had apparently decided to tell Victor out of the blue. “Yes, but I want to skate against you, too. That’d be a dream come true, just not at the cost of seeing you step off the ice before you’re ready.” He would hate that, even while part of him was thrilled at the idea of monopolising Victor’s attention for any extended period of time. Yuuri already knew he was selfish. He hardly needed the confirmation, and Victor didn’t need to hear it.

Victor was smiling, squeezing Yuuri’s hands. “So if I wasn’t leaving the ice permanently, you’d still want me?”

The phrasing threw him off enough that he frowned, stepping closer and tugging their conjoined hands closer to his stomach. “What do you mean ‘still want you?’ I’m not bargaining my aff—there’s no time where I won’t _want_ you, in whatever form! Don’t make this about me, Victor. What makes _you_ happy? Because that’s the only thing I want, or, or what any of us who care about you want!”

Victor didn’t say anything, staring at Yuuri with round eyes and lips parted just so. Yuuri was afraid he’d gone too far, snapping and lashing out in a way he shouldn’t have, too honest about himself and his dislike of feeling he was being used as some kind of excuse. _You’d still want me?_

Just as abruptly, he felt Victor let go of his hands and wrap him in a hug. It wasn’t anything like the leaning hugs from on the podium; Victor held him close, held onto him, head tucked tight against the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

“Thank you, Yuuri.” Victor didn’t move, just held him, and Yuuri brought his arms up to cautiously wrap around Victor in turn. He didn’t know what it was he said that triggered such a strong reaction from Victor. All he knew was Victor had reached out, found some sort of bizarre solace in what Yuuri said, and… if Yuuri was honest with himself, he didn’t hate it. The warmth of Victor pressed against him, the rabbit-fast beat of Yuuri’s heart in response, the way he felt himself flushing, all of it was immediate and impossible to ignore, but not stifling.

On one of the many side streets of Shanghai, Yuuri held onto Victor, a port in a storm he couldn’t see, and felt like for this once he was helping Victor, too.

* * *

Victor hadn’t offered an explanation for his hug, and Yuuri hadn’t pressed for one. He half hoped for reasons he was gently attempting to ignore that it would happen again, the greedy part of himself that always wanted _more_ out of the world raising its head. 

Through practice sessions, even through to the warm up before his short program, he tried to make sense of how he felt. Tried to understand what the loves he encapsulated in his free skate meant, and how many of their facades were tied back to how he felt about Victor.

He stopped ignoring his attraction to Victor, physically, emotionally, mentally. It rendered him incapable of sentences for a day that left him dodging failed attempts at explaining he was fine to both Victor and Chris; Chris, who Yuuri made himself look clearly at, picking apart the differences in how he felt for the two closest rivals he’d ever had.

He wanted to show both of them his best on the ice. He wanted to beat both of them while at the top of his game, while they were at the top of theirs.

He only wanted to make out with Victor, and while he wasn’t sure if that’d been at first just the lingering impression of his teenage years, he knew fully well by now it was simply what he wanted at twenty-two, going on twenty-three.

He suspected, just a little, that Victor might not object. He had no idea what to do with any of that, because both of them saw the ice first, chased after that dream, and Yuuri had never considered balancing a whole other person alongside his career drive. Not even when he knew others managed it, some relationships working, others fracturing under the pressures competitive skaters lived under.

He didn’t fully know what he wanted, at least not in terms of interpersonal relationships on a romantic level, but he did know how to deal on a competitive level. 

“I plan to win gold,” he told Victor at their last practice session before the free skate, sipping water at the boards. He turned his face toward his lifetime idol, his friend, his competition. The man he was attracted to on every level. “Watch my skating, Victor. I promise you won’t want to look away.”

Victor only smiled, inclining his head to Yuuri. “I’d like that. But Yuuri, I’m not going easy on you or anyone else here. If you’re going to win, then you can’t just catch me.”

_You have to shoot past your goal._

Christophe took his end position, the audience exploding into cheers, as Yuuri approached the boards. When he’d started out this season thinking he’d be skating to Ketty’s reworked vision of the music to summarise his career the next year, he’d been tempted to believe it would be his crowning moment. The duet of the piano and the violin, the whole of it a story of the life he’d lived since falling in love with figure skating on an international level, to now, where he’d both crashed to his lowest low at the Grand Prix Final and risen to his greatest high at Four Continents, seemed almost too apt in retrospect. Yuuri had never been defined by a willingness to give up. He’d never been able to accept losing, had never been graceful in accepting loss.

He’d learned in the quiet moments where he trusted himself to reach out even when his head was louder than any words he could form with his mouth that it had never been about standing truly alone out on the ice. The support from his family had sent him on this path; the support from Minako, from Yuuko and Takeshi; from Celestino and every coach before him; from competitors and rinkmates like Phichit, Chris, and Victor; the support from his fans, little as he felt like he deserved them at times.

No life was free from loss. Yet loss didn’t define him; loss wouldn’t take him away from himself. Nor would the fear of loss, and he knew, as he switched the elements of his free skate on the fly, changing his triple flip into a quadruple toe, pushing himself to match Victor’s level of difficulty, that even if he lost this, even if he lost now, he wasn’t _lost_.

He’d get back up, fight harder next season, and show the world what he wanted to show Victor. The Yuuri who loved what he did out here on the ice. The Yuuri who had fallen in love with Victor’s skating over a decade ago. The Yuuri who had, almost without realising it, fallen in love with Victor. Not his idol, but the man who flirted shamelessly with Chris, never amounting to anything; the man who took endless selfies of himself and his dog; the man who loved sightseeing and shopping and showed Yuuri, somehow, it could even be fun.

The man who’d inspired Yuuri for all his adult life. This skate, and this program, was as much for him as it was for Yuuri. More-so, even.

Yuuri knew it was risky, as he pulled out of a spin and fell into the smooth footwork that took him across the rink and around again, until he was building up speed for his final jump. He knew that this might lose him everything, right now. He also knew at least one man watching would understand exactly what this was for, who it was for, and what it was about.

He launched off the ice, determination coursing through him as he flung himself through a quad flip, sticking the landing with only the barest hint of a wobble as he skated clear out the other side of it. There was a moment of pause before the audience burst into cheers and applause, some understanding the difficulty of what he’d just done, others following along with the boundless energy of the crowd.

Elation carried Yuuri forward into his final combination spin in the center of the ice, changing foot and changing position as the the music slowed down. As he came to a stop, he brought his arms up in front of his face, crossing them there as he drew them back down following the last trailing notes, until one arm extended toward the boards, and the other, elbow bent, hovered over his heart.

His extended hand, palm down, fingers gently splayed, pointed directly toward the man he saw waiting just off the boards. Victor, who he couldn’t make out at this distance, but whose costume he could see as brightly as if he’d been standing in center ice.

Yuuri panted, utterly exhausted, his mind catching up with his body when he realised he’d done it. His mad move, the one he’d been practicing for next season, the one he’d subbed in without consulting his coach, hadn’t worked. He fisted his hands, throwing them up in the air as he cried out, the overwhelming emotion of his success and the drain of fear of failure leeching away leaving him crying outright where he stood. He had to take his bows, and he did, wiping the back of his wrist over his eyes repeatedly as he smiled at the audience he couldn’t quite see.

The flowers and plushies rained down on the ice as he cut toward the kiss and cry, not even pausing to pick up any of the multitude sliding across the ice before him. He needed to get to the boards, to get his skate guards on, to sit down before he collapsed. He didn’t know how well he’d rated in his whole skate, but he knew he’d done well. He’d done incredibly well.

“Yuuri, you just about gave me a heart attack, and I can’t tell if it was out of surprise, or pride, or both!” Celestino sounded breathless, grinning broadly as he handed Yuuri his skate guards, opening his arms for the hug Yuuri desperately needed right then.

“I did it,” he said, needing to confirm what had just happened. “I landed a quad flip.”

“Which I know you’ve been practicing, Yuuri, but to do that right _now_ …!” Celestino shook his head, leaving an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders as they walked the short distance to the kiss and cry. “I wouldn’t have believed you could pull it off yet. Shows how much I knew.”

He found it both irritating and gratifying, having Celestino admit he was wrong. At the same time he simply didn’t care. He took the water bottle offered him and sipped from it, made difficult as he kept wanting to smile. It was an unusual feeling, one that was starting to pass into a grim sort of worry as time passed and Victor warmed up on the ice while Yuuri’s scores remained in judging limbo.

Finally, he saw the small monitor light up with the white block numbers of his score. The announcer spoke over the loudspeakers, Yuuri feeling his heart skip a beat. 

He’d scored a personal best of his career, but even more importantly…

… He’d scored just higher than Victor’s program’s base components and usual GOE would earn him as a score.

Somehow Yuuri Katsuki, using the program he and Victor had collaborated on choreographing, set to the music that was meant to summarise his life on the ice so far, had managed to outscore the source of his inspiration. In _honour_ , and for, his love of the sport, and his love of theman.

Yuuri stared at the monitor in disbelief as Celestino crushed him in another sideways hug. He was in first, and it was very likely that Yuuri Katsuki, not Victor Nikiforov, had just won the World Championships.

* * *

The whole experience was surreal from the moment Yuuri was first to skate out on the ice with his name announced over the loudspeakers, to taking his place in the center of the podium. For the first time he was already standing there when Victor glided out across the ice, taking his bows and cheering acknowledgement in the middle of the ice. Then he was skating toward Yuuri, a broad, happy smile on his face. Not that Yuuri could see him clearly until Victor was walking to him across the carpet laid on the ice, reaching his hand forward to clasp Yuuri’s outstretched palm.

He tugged Yuuri toward him, giving a brief squeeze of his hand as one arm enfolded Yuuri in a hug. Yuuri returned the gesture, anchoring himself with Victor for the time being, capable of saying only one thing in return to Victor’s, “Congratulations, Yuuri.”

“ _Thank you_.” His throat felt tight as he swallowed back fresh, happy tears; it was all too much, he was simply too filled with joy. “For everything, Victor. Thank you.”

Victor leaned back, smiling up at Yuuri, no longer open mouthed. “What, no congratulations?” He winked, still holding Yuuri’s hand. “You’re welcome. You know, this has turned out to be the most exciting season I’ve had in years.”

With another squeeze, he let go, moving to the side to step up and claim his place as the silver medalist. Chris, in a repeat of the year before, took the ice as the bronze medalist, blowing kisses to the audience and then, cheekily, to Yuuri and Victor. 

Chris didn’t bother shaking hands, simply opening his arms and embracing Yuuri as Yuuri leaned forward. “Next year,” Chris said, “Both you and Victor will have your work cut out for you. Congratulations, Yuuri.”

“Congratulations, Chris.” He straightened, Chris moving to Victor and repeating the same open hug. He was probably repeating the same promise in words, too, but Yuuri didn’t strain himself to hear. Through the whole medaling ceremony, as he leaned forward to have his first gold medal at the World Championship hung around his neck, he had to remind himself this was real. This was really happening. As Chris and Victor were instructed to come in close next to Yuuri and hold up their medals, smiling or blowing a kiss to the camera (Chris did have his ways), Yuuri could still barely believe the gold was hung around his neck.

He clutched the bouquet in his other hand, ducking his face closer to breathe in the floral scents, clearing some of the fog from his head. The photographers were in full command now, asking them to pose like this, to hold up each other’s country flags in turns. Yuuri followed instruction, glad that someone knew what they wanted when all he seemed to be able to do was smile whenever anyone asked him a question. Was he going to start crying again? It felt like a close thing, but he managed to hold back, not wanting to be dragged into the press conference soon to follow with red-rimmed eyes.

He noticed the lingering touched from Victor that helped guide his attention when he seemed too floating and happy to focus on what was being said. He even flashed Victor a thankful look, rewarded in turn with a nod and a small smile. Victor stayed close as the photoshoot wound down, meeting Celestino, Yakov, and Josef at the boards. 

Celestino took Yuuri’s bouquet, offering him his water bottle in exchange, but Yuuri shook his head. “I’ll drink more at the conference.” He’d need to, in order to cope with answering all the question that’d be directed his way.

The group of them were making their way down the broad, padded hall toward where they could change out of their skates when Victor reached out, taking hold of Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri startled, jerking his head around and looking at Victor with wide eyes. His heart started beating faster, apropos of nothing; or maybe it was appropriate, once he saw the look in Victor’s eyes.

“Yuuri, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Yuuri gave a slow nod of his head, waving Celestino on. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

Yakov eyed them both, frowning and muttering something under his breath before speaking. “Don’t take too much time, we all need to be at the press conference in fifteen minutes. So help me, Vitya, if I have to drag you there in your skates, I will!”

Chris said nothing, lifting an eyebrow and smiling in a knowing way as he walked past, looping an arm around Josef’s shoulders. “Must be hard, falling,” he said, but Yuuri didn’t hear if Josef had a response. Victor was pulling on his hand, leading him to the alcove that took them just out of sight of the press waiting back at the rink and further down the hall. 

Yuuri’s heart was hammering even harder now, eyes darting to the side. He was nervous, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was standing alone with Victor after having just unseated him from his run as reigning world champion, or if it had to do with the thoughts that he’d finally allowed himself to embrace not half an hour earlier on the ice.

“What is it?” He asked, Victor still holding his hand. He couldn’t look away from those lovely, compelling eyes that seemed content simply looking at Yuuri. It should have been uncomfortable. 

He wanted more.

“Have I told you how amazing you are, Yuuri? How consistently you take me by surprise in everything you do?”

Victor’s free hand came up, fingers sliding under the gold medal hanging against Yuuri’s chest. Lifting it up, Victor kept his eyes on Yuuri’s face, before letting his gaze drop away as he ducked his head down, pressing his lips against the gold. His hand was warm around Yuuri’s; the sight of Victor kissing his gold medal took his breath away.

“Victor…”

Victor lifted his head, looking at Yuuri through silver lashes. He lowered the medal, settling it back against Yuuri’s chest.

Yuuri licked his lips, swallowing with a suddenly dry mouth. Any pointed thoughts he had flown out the window in the face of Victor standing like this before him rnow, looking for all the world like he wanted to kiss something more than Yuuri’s medal.

Yuuri wanted that too. Not just that, but it was part of his wants when it came to Victor. So when Victor kept his eyes on Yuuri’s, asking in a low murmur, “May I kiss you?” Yuuri didn’t feel the need to respond with words.

Instead he stepped toward him, bringing his free hand up to stroke his fingers over Victor’s cheek, brushing against the lobe of his ear and running them through Victor’s soft, thick hair. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Victor’s as his fingers curled in Victor’s hair, the hand holding Victor’s pulling free so he could rake those fingers through Victor’s hair too, giddy on the feel of him, the heat of his lips against Yuuri’s. He shivered at the touch of Victor’s hands at his sides, Victor anchoring them together as he turned his head to deepen the angle of their kiss, laughter caught somewhere deep in Victor’s chest.

Yuuri channeled so much of his passion, his love, his hopes for the future, his anxious moments, the happiness of having achieved what he achieved today into the incandescent _joy_ he felt into his kiss as Victor kissed him back, one hand sliding off Yuuri’s hip to wrap around to the small of his back, pressing him even closer. 

When they finally separated, it was only at their lips, Yuuri pulling his head back just enough to focus on Victor’s face. Victor looked dazed, blissed out and happy, blinking into focus as he leaned his head in, resting his forehead against Yuuri’s.

“I take that as a yes,” he said, eyes shining with an affection Yuuri let himself see for the first time. “I’d like to revisit this yes later, but sadly, right now I think we have a press conference to prep for.”

“Probably,” Yuuri said, lips curling up in a ghost of a smile. “But what exactly is this, Victor?”

Victor’s smile faded. He stared into Yuuri’s eyes, hand a warm, firm presence at the small of his back. “That’s another conversation we need to continue after the press conference. I’d like to find the answer to that together, if that’s okay.”

Yuuri nodded, feeling his chest tighten with a warmth and happiness that had little to do with the medal hanging around his neck. “It’s okay,” he said past the lump forming in his throat, finally allowing himself to hope. 

* * *

He hadn’t been home for four years. The weight of that rested on his shoulders as the kilometres stretched out under the train tracks. As they slowed to a stop at Hasetsu’s station, Yuuri was surprised at how much things had changed. The station hadn’t been above ground like it was now when he left, and as he soon learned, all the posters of himself he remembered taking as part of a town promotional years ago were plastered on an improbably high number of walls.

Victor laughed in delight, insisting on taking a selfie with the wall of posters at the train station while Yuuri studiously ignored him. His vague plan to get them safely to his family’s _onsen_ was delayed as Victor wrangled him into greeting the people who called out his name, making it almost fun as Yuuri realised how many of them would comment on his nice, handsome foreign guest while congratulating him on his gold at Worlds. Yuuri didn’t think most of them knew much about figure skating, though when he mentioned as much to Victor, Victor had laughed.

“They don’t need to know more than what they do. They’re proud of you because you’re one of theirs. Do they need any other reason?”

He guessed not, though he was unwilling to concede the point until a block and a half later.

His nerves mingled poorly with excitement as they came closer to Yu-topia, Makkachin on leash and sniffing everything along the way. He still didn’t understand the convoluted pathway Victor had taken in order to get his dog cleared for travel and an expedited quarantine period, but he appreciated her warmth and ready affection. It made him miss Vicchan, but the ache didn’t bite as hard as he’d expected.

No one was in the front courtyard as he and Victor rolled their suitcases in, Makkachin all wagging tails and friendly interest as they made their way across the cobblestones to the front door. Sliding it open, Yuuri ushered Victor and Makkachin inside, following after and closing it behind them. 

Mari looked up from where she sat covering the front, quirking her eyebrows up in blinking surprise. She was quick to recover, sliding off the stool she was perched on. “It’s good seeing you again, baby brother. Let me go get _Kaa-chan_.”

She moved off, Yuuri biting his lower lip and fighting an intense urge to squirm. He stepped out of his shoes, absently telling Victor they kept guest shoes for the outside in the cubbies to their left, and all the slippers provided for while they were at the onsen could be picked out of the basket to the right. His babbling was interrupted as Victor’s fingers laced through his, the gesture feeling as natural and warm as it once would have been unthinkable.

Victor smiled at him. Yuuri smiled back. Standing side by side, hand in hand, he looked forward, untucking his chin and smiling with sheepish pleasure as his mother came running out of the dining room, slowing to a stop before them. With her eyes bright with love and pride and unshed tears, her round cheeks flushed with happiness, he felt his heart clench and then bloom in turn.

“ _Okaa-san_ ,” he said, heart full, eyes watering, “I’m home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Participating in the BBOI has been an adventure and a half, especially as toward the end I was finishing up putting together [Heartbeats: A Yuri!!! On Ice Fanzine](https://heartbeatszine.tumblr.com/), which are free and available to everyone. For those who enjoy collaborative fandom projects, I recommend checking them out!
> 
> Welcome to the end of this story, and thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate a kudos to know you've been by and enjoyed yourself, and a comment even more so! Feedback is always appreciated. 
> 
> I highly encourage everyone to check out the BBOI collection and see about all these fantastic new stories posted in their complete forms. So much good reading out there, load on up! I'll be doing so myself soon. ;)
> 
> Love and hugs to everyone,  
> shadhahvar


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